


The World Beyond

by Wordwalker



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Worlds, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Cultural Magic, F/M, Giant Squid - Freeform, M/M, Mirror magic, New Magic, New Shopkeepers, Romani Character, Romanian Dragon Sanctuary, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-04-25 08:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 74,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14374503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordwalker/pseuds/Wordwalker
Summary: "Be wary, for when darkness grows, so too shall the light." - The final words of the Golden Grimiore. Harry finds himself in possession of a rare gift - he is a mirror mage. But nothing about this gift is simple, nor is his fifth year at Hogwarts. A mysterious Romaji witch has shown up at school, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is hiding something,  Voldemort is back and is mounting for all-out war against the wizarding world and those that lay beyond the veil, and Dumbledore and the Order's plan for the ministry takes a turn.





	1. The Letter

It was an evening unlike any other. Harry lay under the canopy of an old oak atop a hill that overlooked Little Whinging and, by this, everything might have seemed to be normal. But then that depended on your definition of normal. The Dursley for instance would have thought it was quite normal that their adopted nephew was calling out from his sleep. Others might have thought it impossible that waves of intense heat radiated from Harry’s skin as he tossed and turned. The Munrows, who lived a block down, would most certainly have found it alarming that the oak leaves were crackling and glowing like embers in the sunset. Even by witches and wizards standards, it was abnormal that Harry should be doing magic in his sleep. So perhaps, everything was not at all normal.

Harry woke up and did so with a yell. There was only one thing on his mind - the image of Cedric, Wormtail and Voldemort in the graveyard. It made him sick, burned into his vision, so stark he could have sworn he saw them standing there, silhouettes against the sunset.

Harry blinked, and his vision swam to its rightful place. There was nothing to fear. He still lay atop the hill just down the road from Number 4 Privet Drive with his spellbook sprawled on the grass beside him, its words exposed, pages turning in the evening breeze. And yet his heart still hammered in his chest... and his cheek…

With a start, Harry's fingers shot to his face. They found tender skin. Sunburn? Just how long have I been asleep? he wondered. Judging by his stiff legs and the crick in his neck from how he lay slumped against the trunk, several hours.

The sun was so very low in the sky now, just a sliver cut by the horizon. He would need to be getting back soon. But as he made to push himself up, he noticed a hole in his jeans. It bore straight through his trousers and exposed the pale skin beneath.

Harry cocked his head and ran a finger along the seared edges. That morning there had been a grease fire on the stove top while frying their bacon. Harry was still forced to make breakfast for the Dursley's. Oddly though, he didn't remember burning his pants. He thought he'd remember something like that.

Harry, frustrated that his limited supply of hand-me-down muggle jeans had just been reduced further, leaned his head back onto the trunk, closed his eyes and gave into his exhaustion. It wasn't the first time he had woken up like this, voice rubbed raw and tired, despite several hours of sleep. Yet this time was worse somehow. He could only relate it to how he felt after a Patronus lesson with Lupin, draining - physically, mentally, magically.

As Harry lay there, the sunlight on his face suddenly winked out. He would have thought the sun had dipped below the hills, if he hadn't heard a hoot.

Harry, peeling back his eyelids, saw the owl pass over head. It dropped something that fluttered down and landed smack dab on his face. He brushed off the letter into his lap. Then the owl was gone.

At first, Harry felt a surge of excitement, thinking it must have been a belated birthday card. He was, of course, wrong. In fact, he could not have been more wrong. His wrongness knew no bounds, right then and there. This letter was not from any friend of his, but from the ministry, something that became known to Harry once he saw the emblem set into the wax. 

He shot up from the tree, feeling wide awake. It had been three years since he had received a letter from the Ministry. And that summer's chaos with Dobbie had nearly gotten him expelled, not to mention it still made Uncle Vernon's blood boil. The last time he had *been* to the ministry - three month ago - Fudge had nearly thrown him from the witness stand. So what in the name of Merlin did the ministry want with him? Whatever it was it couldn't be good. And with that, his utter wrongness became unfortunate rightness.

"Dear Harry Potter," it read, "you have been summoned to the Department of the Improper Use of Magic following a detection of underage wizardry at 6:57 on the evening of August 1st. You're hearing has been scheduled for 8:00 am tomorrow morning. In accordance with new strict ministry laws, if you fail to attend or are delayed for any reason, your wand will be confiscated and destroyed, and you will be expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Have a wonderful rest of your evening.

-The Ministry of Magic."

Harry lowered the letter shakily, feeling a bit ill as if he had been hit by the Eat Slugs jinx. A moment later and he was scrambling down the hill. If it was a mistake at the ministry, which it must have been, he needed to know what time it was. He would have checked his watch if it had not been smashed during his encounter with the Horntail. As a keepsake, he still kept it around his wrist. For whatever reason, it didn't want to start again, no matter how many repair charms he flung at it.

It raddled lifelessly on his wrist (it had always been a size too big) as he ran to Number 4. Halfway down the hillside, he realized that he had forgotten his spell book. It was amazing how when one thing went wrong, the world seemed to throw a few more obstacles at you. And so he spun around and sprinted back up to retrieve it...when he halted.

Harry thought he was imagining things in the graying dusk. The leaves of the oak atop the hill were black and shriveled. The trunk was ashy and burned. And the grass around him flaked as his feet crunch down upon it. He couldn’t remember if the hilltop had been this way when he arrived there that afternoon. But he could remember. He couldn’t remember an awful lot lately with the days bleeding into nights.

It hit him like a punch. The hole in his pants had not been from the grease fire. The burn of his cheek was not from the sun. And the tree definitely not been like that before he got there. It was him. Somehow, he was doing magic in his sleep. Well that was wretched news. How was he going to explain that to the ministry? *Oh, well, I have these nightmares, you see, and they cause me to do magic.* Dangerous magic from the looks of the now dead tree. That was unlikely to convince anyone, especially a ministry who had made it very clear that he was not to be trusted or believed.

Another shadow passed overhead.

Harry looked up to see a familiar tawny owl with a letter in its beak. It swooped down and skidded to a halt in front of him.

“Errol?” puzzled Harry as he belt low.

The owl gave a confirming hoot before presenting the letter to Harry. He then nipped at Harry's fingers, eager for his reward.

"I'm sorry. I don't have any treats," Harry told the owl guiltily as he undid the seal. At that, Errol narrowed his eyes at him, ruffling his feathers and swooping off.

Harry made a mental note to pick up some treats at Diagon Alley for Errol in the coming days.

"Harry, I'll make this short," it read. "I'm coming back early from Romania to bring you to the ministry first thing in the morning. I've already sent a letter to your Aunt and Uncle letting them know I will be arriving early in the morning to get you. There's no need to explain, I'm sure that whatever the reason was for your use of magic, it was necessary. Just in case the ministry does not see it that way, stay where you are, and don't do any more magic, do you understand? It will only make a bad situation worse.

\- Arthur Weasley"

At least he wasn't going to the ministry alone, he thought. THough he wasn't at all sure he could promised not to do magic again. He had not meant to the first time. His nightmares were beginning to spill into his every say.

Morbid thoughts of his wand being snapped in front of him, following him across Little Whinging and up the stair to his room. Once he was there, he shut the door behind him and sat on his bed, feeling numb. How he wished Hermione and Ron were there with him. Hermione would know a way out of this. And Ron, well Ron could make any mortifying situation feel bearable.

Harry picked himself up and came to a stack of well-worn letter at his desk. If he could be with his friends, then their words were second best. And so he picked up one from Hermione and turned it in his hands. It was wrinkled and stained with birthday cake, to the point of illegibility. But Harry didn't need to read it again; he had read it enough times to know the words by heart. Already, he was smiling, and great butterflies flapped around in his stomach.

Maybe it's best if you don't read hers, he decided, before returning it to the pile and drawing up Ron’s. He needed a good laugh and Ron always had a bit a humor in his letters. So settling in under his covers, Harry read.

"Dear Harry,  
I'd say happy birthday this year, but we'll be celebrating it soon enough.  
I'm still writing from Romania. Been wondering recently how dad was able to afford this trip, but he won't say. Been keeping that information locked tighter than Merlin's sock drawer.  
Last week, we visited Dracula Castle. Bloody hell it was scary. Fred nearly pushed me into a five-hundred-year-old jinxed corridor that drains the blood out of your eyes - at least that's what he told me. Don't know if I'd trust him though.  
Today we traveled to the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary. Charlie invited the whole family to see the work he's been doing with exotic dragons from around the world. Ridgebacks and Chinese Fireballs! You should see them… but I guess you already have at the Triwizard tournament. Sorry Harry, I know I shouldn't have mentioned that. Wish I could use the erase ink charm. Mom already gave us a lecture about what we should and shouldn't mention when we're with you and the tournament was number one on that list.  
Look, I should probably stop writing, the family is outside with Charlie. Fred says he is going to let us ride one of the dragons!  
PS. I have something big to tell you and Hermione. Nobody really knows about it yet, except Ginny cause she is a sneaky git.  
-Ron"

Harry folded up the letter, set it aside and thanked Mrs. Weasley silently. Though he didn't like the idea of his friends measuring their words around him, the last thing he wanted to do was bring up the Triwizard Tournament and what it led too; it was difficult enough having to relive it in his sleep.

He knew he shouldn't feel that what happened was his fault. He couldn't have known that by sharing the glory of the Triwizard Cup, Harry had sentenced Cedric Diggory to death; he couldn't have known that Mad-Eye Moody had been an impostor that had fooled even Dumbledore; he couldn't have know that by sparing Peter Petigrew's life, Voldemort would gain an ally that would raise him to his full strength; he couldn't have known that the Triwizard Cup was a portkey meant to deliver him to the Dark Lord so that he could take Harry's blood and fashion a new, more terrible body than before. And even though he knew all of this, his emotions still denied all reason.

~|0|~

Eventually sleep took his mind, and dreams swept him astray.

He was in the graveyard, the Triwizard cup clutched in his hand. Cedric was beside him, alive. Alive.

Tears pooled in Harry's eyes. He remembered what was going to happen. Cedric was in danger.

Cedric out of there! Harry couldn't watch it again - helpless. Not again.

Harry grabbed him. "Cedric! You need to leave! Take the port key and get out of here."

"It's a portkey. The cup…" Cedric ignored Harry. He could not hear him. "What is this place?"

"I'm sorry," Harry cried on deaf ears.

"Kill the other," a high-pitched voice, hissed out from the darkness. 

Cedric turned to Harry, confused and frightened. And a flare of green lit the night.

"No!" Harry scream, as he clutched Cedric's limp body. Still hoping beyond hope that this time would be different. Yet for what felt like the hundredth time, he watched as Cedric thudded to the grass, limp and lifeless. It was all so real. The loss. The Dark Lord's cackles. The unbelievable pain that seared his forehead.

Then Harry was no longer in the graveyard, holding Cedric, but was standing in his bathroom at number four Privet Drive. It might have been a shock in reality, but this was the world of dreams, and space and time were fluid here. Before him was his bathroom mirror, but instead of his own reflection staring back at him, it was a figure cloaked in darkness. Voldemort. From under a hood, Harry saw his ashen face cut by slitted nostrils and scarlet eyes, a mouth was twisted into unfathomable malice.

Harry felt the blood drain from his face and someone gasped just beside him.

Startled, Harry spun to saw a girl with fiery red hair, her cheeks brushed with the telltale Weasley freckles.

"Ginny?" 

"Harry look," Ginny pointed. 

Harry turned back to Voldemort and took note of the the Dark Lord surrounding. He was in a castle of some sort, with great greystone walls and wrought iron chandeliers. But before Harry could see any more, Voldemort lifted his phoenix feather wand to the mirror and his scar ignited in white-hot pain.

Then the castle fuzzed. It was replaced by the very bathroom Harry stood in - his bathroom in Number 4 Privet Drive. 

The then mirror splintered. A crack spidered down from the right corner and cut across the Dark Lord's triumphant smile.

"I'm coming for you," he hissed.

Voldemort laughed. It was a great, high pitched cackle that stood his every hair on end.

~|0|~

The beeping rang horribly in Harry’s ear. It chimed in rhythm with his headache. If that was possible.

Beep. 

Harry swatted at his bedside table. The beeping stopped abruptly.

He lay there and stared up at the ceiling. His heart hammered in his chest. And for the first time in his life, he was relieved to find himself at the Dursleys. He had escaped the graveyard three months ago and yet it kept calling him back, whispering in his ear. But they were just dreams.

Harry ripping off the covers and thumped his bare feet to the floor, orienting himself with the steadiness of the floorboards. Then, aching all over, he pulled out his finest muggle clothes for his hearing that morning: a pair of his uncle's old socks, an over-sized sweat-stained button-down courtesy of Dudley, khakis from a garage sale, and a rather ridiculous banana yellow tie. However, somewhere along the way of navigating his tie, his unsteady fingers had looped it into a knot. And not the correct kind. 

After trying and failing to unravel the mess several times, Harry decided that perhaps the bathroom mirror might help.

It had been so long since he had dressed up in fine muggle clothes. He had never gotten around to buying formal wizarding clothes: a billowy robe, maybe a pointy hat and a casing for his wand hilt. But catching his reflection in the mirror – shaggy hair, overly sun-kissed cheeks, and a faint lightning scar – Harry decided against those ornaments. He probably looked ridiculous in fancy clothes. It didn't suit him. His hair, standing on end as it was, rebel against the idea. Even his bathroom mirror seemed to tell him what it thought of that with a big crack that cut across his face. 

Harry went very cold. The mirror was cracked, cracked in the very same places as his dream.

Voldemort. Harry expected to turn his head and see the Dark Lord standing beside him, but when he looked there was only his toilet paper stand. 

Eventually a bit of sense came back to Harry. Voldemort couldn’t have cracked that mirror. There was a protective charm that shrouded Privet Drive keeping the Dark Lord from getting to Harry while he was away for the summer. There was no way Voldemort could break those enchantments; they had held strong for fifteen years. And let's not forget you're doing magic in your sleep not, Harry though miserably.

A few troubling words drifted into his mind. Don't do anymore magic, Mr. Weasley had explicitly told him. Already Harry had failed without even being awake to stop himself. What would he tell the ministry? That was two breaches in twenty-four hours. And his excuse was that he couldn't help it because he was asleep. That was unlikely to go over well.

The doorbell rang

Harry drew back from his thoughts and listened.

A moment later, Uncle Vernon's thunderous voice rumbled throughout the house as he swung open the door. Then it slammed back shut.

Again, the doorbell rang, a sort of timid ring if that was possible.

"What do you want?" snarled Vernon as he wrenched open the door.

"Ah, didn't you get my letter?"

"Oh, I got it. And I put it right where it belonged - in the fireplace," jeered Vernon proudly.

"Ah. Well then, I must inform you then that I am here to take Harry to his hearing." There was a nervous edge to the man's voice, voice that he knew distinctly as Mr. Weasley.

"Hearing? Ha, gotten himself into trouble with your lot too, has he?"

Harry clench his jaw; he had had enough eavesdropping. Grabbing his luggage and Hedwig's cage, he quickly barreled down the stairs before his uncle could say anything else that might hurt Mr. Weasley's view of him.

"Harry," said Arthur, looking relieved to see him. "We need to be going."

Harry slipped past Uncle Vernon's boulder-like shoulders and greeted Mr. Weasley with a hug. It stayed like that for a good while, Harry not wanting to let go of the middle-aged man.

Mr. Weasley stiffened before he melted into Harry's iron hug.

"How did you know? How did you know about the hearing?"

"Dumbledore has eyes and ears throughout the ministry. The Order found out as soon as the ministry did." Mr. Weasley looked to the sky. "Sorry if Errol was a tad delayed. Even with the expiditius charm, Errol is somewhat of a slow bird."

"The Order?" Harry frowned..

"Mr. Weasley waved away his question. "We'll discuss that some other time. For now, we have your hearing to attend. Are you ready?"

"I am," he answered.

After they had walked a fair distance, Mr. Weasley tapped Harry's luggage with his wand. "These will be safe at the Burrow."

The trunk, along with Hedwig's cage, shimmered and then faded out of existence. Then the balding man put a fatherly hand around him and disapparated with a crack.

The empty suburban street slurped away. Then bit by bit, the world slid itself back together, wobbling like a bowl of Jell-O desperately trying to hold on to its shape. Harry would have thought the sudden change might make him sick, but not in the slightest.

He loved magic.

When everything settled into its rightful place, Harry was standing still in a busy metropolitan sidewalk in the heart of London.

Mr. Weasley was not standing still, however, but hurrying toward a brilliant crimson telephone box. 

"This way. Come on," he waved him in.

Once inside, Mr. Weasley pressed a series of numbers on the dial pad. The telephone gave a ring and - without warning - the floor fell out from under Harry.

His stomach lurched. There was some magical force that pulled at his feet with an incredible strength. It was guiding him downward toward a collection of thin pipes. One particularly tiny pipe consumed Mr. Weasley, sucking him in, smooching his body into a tube no bigger than a straw. 

Next, it was Harry's turn. Air squeegeed from his lungs as every bit of him was compressed and vacuumed up. Through he went, passing several forks in the pipe, going this way and that. Up and down. Side to side. Until air finally returned to his lungs as he regained the shape of his body.

But not all was normal; Harry's feet were dangling some fifty meters above the ground and a monstrous marble chamber as wide and as long as the entirety of King's Cross lay beneath him.

He had never seen the ministry from this height before. Floo connected fireplaces speckled the walls; Aparation platformed cracked as wizards popped into existence; and portkey stations lined with nasty old socks sent witches spiraling upward through the great ivory ceiling. Harry wonder just how many different types of magical commutes there were to the ministry. Several from the looks of it, and many more than were shown.

A wave of freshly Floo-ed ministry worker bustled past Harry and Mr. Weasley as they landed, all intent on the elevators on the other wall.

They looked haggard and worn and...scared. It was a stark contrast from how he had last seen members of the ministry, which had been in a state of business as usual, only breaking from their routine to scowl at Harry as he left the building. From the looks of it now, they didn't even have time to show Harry what they thought of him. And you know what, he preferred it that way.

"This way," Mr. Weasley was several meters away and gesturing for him to follow him.

But Harry wasn't able to. A flare of green light had illuminated the chamber; the fireplaces had roared to life and a new wave of ministry workers were pouring into chamber. They barreled past him, one after the other, until he could no longer see Mr. Weasley.

It was all Harry could do to push through a set of bodies and call out for Mr. Weasley. But his shouts were no more than a whisper compared to the clatter of several hundred feet clicking on marble. They bumped into one another, not even stopping to apologize. There destination was far more important than pleasantries.

Then someone smashed into Harry. The old man hit Harry's shoulder, hard. It was enough to send him flying backwards and onto the ground, where his knee smacked against the marble.

Any gasps of pain, were swallowed by the crowd that herded past him.

His knee was sprained. Harry was sure of it. It throbbed and when he tried to move it, produced a sharp pain that shot up his leg. Definitely sprained. But he couldn't think about that, not now, not when his place at Hogwarts hung in the balance. He needed to make that hearing. He needed to find Mr. Weasley.

But he could not see Mr. Weasley. In fact, all he could see was a solitary man, old and frail, in grey ministry robes. He was the only person truly visible because of his relative stillness. Bug bushy eyebrows drooped over his eyes that were looking directly at Harry, and it was clear that the old man recognized him.

"It's Harry Potter," he whispered.

"That's alright," said Harry as he tried to stand. When he put weight on his leg to stand, his knee buckled.

The man saw and knelt beside him. He offered Harry a liver spotted hand, which he pretended not to notice and tried to stand on his own.

"Please, allow me. It would be an honor to help the likes of you, Harry Potter," insisted the old man.

He said it just a little to loud. People were beginning to take notice. Once they did, they began to wonder why a boy was lying on the floor of the ministry. And why that boy looked strikingly like Harry Potter. Several, who had been barreling past them, halted mid run out of curiosity. And one by one, the stampede of people slowed to a standstill, all staring at him.

Gasped burst out in pockets and whispers spread like wildfire throughout the chamber.

"Harry Potter," one of them said.

"What? Oh my, Harry Potter..."

"Merlin's Beard," said a portly woman with a great pink witch's hat atop her head. 

She was closest and looking down at him as if it were some miracle that Harry was there; it was an sentiment echoed by many that surrounded him as if Harry was liable to grow wings and fly away - like he shouldn't exist.

Harry squirmed under the heat of so many eyes. Being the center of everyone's attention had never been something he enjoyed, and now was no exception. Especially when he wasn't sure if they were going to start stoning him or not.

"Harry! Get up! We don’t have much time. We need to get you to your hearing." It was Mr. Weasley. His balding head was poking out from behind the witch's pointy pink hat. But he could not get to Harry. The crowd had formed a kind of circular wall around Harry.

Mr. Weasley struggled to get through, but did not succeed. It seemed everyone wanted to get a look at Harry. So it was up to him to go to Mr. Weasley. He's curse his way out if he had too. That was of course being dramatic. Harry was well aware that even a whisper of magic from him would definitely mean his expulsion. But there were no such rules about using his shoulder to ram his way through.

He made to do just that, but when he put weight on his leg, he began to stumble backward. And someone caught him.

Harry looked up at a man. Just an ordinary man in grey ministry robes with a handlebar mustache. What he found in the man's eyes, was not loathing as Harry had expected, but kindness there in his deep brown eyes, Even admiration, as if he were looking down at his son.

Harry did not know what to say, except for, "Thanks."

"Come on, Harry," Mr. Weasley called to him again. He had given up on trying to get through and seemed to think that Harry would fair better.

Tightening his fist and hoping beyond hope that they would let him through, proved Mr. Weasley right. He took a step towards them, and wince. Then he took another step and something extraordinarily unexpected happened. The crowd stopped jostling and went still. Then the witch in pink removed her hat and rested it on her breast, before bowing. To him. Her smile was not malicious or ill intended, but disarming. 

She straightened and then stepped aside for him to pass. She made sure to give the others a look of, where-are-your-manners.

Harry took another step forward, towards the gap that she made. Another man in grey ministry robes beside the pink witch, removed his cap, ran a hand through his greying hair and bowed, almost reverently. He then stepped aside. One by one, robes rustled to the floor as one by one every memeber in the chamber bowed, and a path opened up before Harry, who felt his cheeks burn.

"The Boy Who Knows." someone whispered. 

"The Boy Who Knows," others whispered, until it was a chant being uttered by every soul in the chamber. 

Harry didn't know what to think. He was confused and embarrassed, not understanding what had changed at the ministry and what he could have done to make people act this crazy. Fingers even trailed the lining of his shoulders, as if by touching him they might be healed from some affliction. Harry shied away from these hands.

It was a relief to finally reach Mr. Weasley and be led away. He thought he might find some explanation for everything with Mr. Weasley, but Ron's father looked hard to a gaping double door on the far wall, determined to get Harry to his hearing within the hour. Finally when they made it through, Harry grimanced up a set of steep stairs.

“It something wrong, Harry?” asked Mr. Weasley.

“It's my leg. I think its sprained,” explained Harry. He was tilting his head down and trying to hide the color of his cheek form Mr. Weasley.

"Oh, well, let's get that leg taken care of," said Mr. Weasley simply. 

Harry winced as Mr. Wealsey tapped his wand to the bum knee and muttered some inaudible spell. Instantly, the throbbing diminished to a faint ache and then to nothing. Then Mr. Weasley guided him up the stairs and to a booth. It was not unlike an old ticket booth at a theater. A sign above the glass read, Department of the Improper of Use of Magic. And behind the class was a woman working tirelessly on a stack of documents.

She didn't look up as they arrived. Nor did she greet them, but continued on with her work. She wore a garish brooch pinned to her grey cardigan and had balanced great black winged glasses atop the bridge of a thin nose. Judging by the plaque on her desk, her name was Gilde. It was a fitting name.

"May I help you?" The witch still did not look up.

"Ah, yes," answered Mr. Weasley, "I am here for an appointment."

"Name?" said Gilde.

"Harry Potter," said Harry.

Gilde's eyes shot off the page and onto him. She looked shocked. Her eyes worked furiously behind her winged glasses, blinking and looking from Harry to Mr. Weasley.

"What on earth are you doing here?" the witched asked him, as if Harry showed signs of spattergroit.

"I have a hearing… Don't I?"

Gilde, regaining some semblance of composure, riffled through a drawer before pulling out a small booklet and leafing through it. Her finger dragged down some list and stopped at a name.

"Oh, um, it appears Harry Potter does. Wait here just a moment."

She snapped the booklet shut, and Harry felt the wind pass through the slots on the glass as she bustled away with speed.

Mr. Weasley leaned up the glass and frowned down at the booklet.

"It said eight o'clock. Dear me," he worried

Harry's stomach flipped. The ministry couldn't change the time of his hearing, could they? He answered hsi own question when he though of who ran the ministry: Cornelius Fudge. And where he was concerned, anything was possible.

Gilde returned and was not alone. She was accompanied by a tall, thin man. Despite his stunning white suit and well kempt bow-tie, the man looked ill or maybe just extremely exhausted. Great greenish rings drooped around his eyes and his skin had a greenish tint to it.

Harry gave an inquiring look up to Mr. Weasley, who had gone ridged. Whoever the man in white was, he was important.

The White Wizard dragged his wand through the air and the booth's glass panels dissolved. Then he stepped through to greet the two of them with tired, ringed eyes.

Mr. Weasley gave a stiff bow. "Minister, I did not know you would be joining us," he said.

"The minister!" Harry blurted. He didn't know how many more surprises he could handle in one day.

"Weasley," the minister greeted him first, before turning his attention to Harry, "…and Harry Potter." he gave a grave sort of bow. "Yes, I am the minister."

"But where's Fudge?" Harry burted again, and then winced at himself. He was being rude.

"Mm," the minister grunted at Mr. Weasley, who away guiltily, "Cornelius Fudge resigned two months ago, shortly after the incident at his estate. Surly you know this."

"Dumbledore thought it best that Harry should take a break from the news over the holidays," explained Mr. Weasley.

"Dumbledore. I see," the minister said with little love for the Headmaster.

"Did Vol- Did You Know Who attack Fudge?" Harry asked breathlessly. "Is he alright."

"It seems you know more than you let on, Mr. Potter." He gave a curt nod. "He Who Must Not Be Named did attack Fudge. After Cornelius condemned your testimony, he – being paranoid as he is – secretly re-enforced his estate guard with Aurors. Mm, it wasn't long after the start of the summer holidays that You-Know-Who broke into his estate, in person. However, You-Know-Who made one oversight; he had not been expecting ten elite Aurors. So yes, Cornelius survived, unharmed, but declared his resignation the next day. Mm, all for the best, I think." The minister grunted.

"How did Voldemort get into his estate?" Harry felt silly for asking so many question, but his will to know overwhelmed his good senses. "It has to be protected? He's the minister."

The minister smiled, seeming amused at Harry's question. "Mm, you ask the right questions, Harry Potter. Fitting. When elected, a minister is required to remove any wards on their estate unless a state of emergency has been declared by the ministry. Of course, ministers can still have guards," The minister quickly added when he saw the expression on Harry's face. "It is an old law and was meant to allow any citizen to reach the minister at any time. A law that we are revisiting." The minister grunted again. It sounded like he had a stubborn bit of phlegm in his throat that he was constantly trying to get out.

"You know, without you, Cornelius would have never stationed Aurors in his home. And without them Cornelius would likely be dead and no one would know of the Dark Lords return." The minister gave Harry a proud smile. "To that we owe you a great debt, Harry Potter. Because of your testimony, because you performed a valiant deed despite Cornelius' foolishness, we know. And I can assure you we are taking every necessary step to bring You-Know-Who in."

Harry stared down at the floor. The new minister mght have assumed this was the humility of the Boy Who Knows he had heard so much about. But that was not what it was. It was Harry's insides that twisted in his gut. It was the shame he felt. It was the knowledge that Voldmeort was only back because Harry had screwed up, had let Wormtail life. He knew so deep down that he didn't deserve the minister's praise.

Harry decided to change subjects. "So what about my hearing? Am I going to be expelled?" Harry asked hoarsely.

"Mm, yes. I must follow at least some protocol." The Minister thought to himself, before going on, "But, these are special circumstances. Let me ask you this, did you mean to do magic? You do, after all, have a history of accidental magic."

"No, of course i didn't mean to. I was asleep when it happened," blurted Harry.

"You mean to say, you didn't do magic," the minister said, his voice thick with skepticism, "Because you were asleep when it happened. I wouldn't call that much of an alibi."

"I-" Harry began. He felt so small telling the minister that his nightmares were the cause. "I've been having nightmares ever since-" Harry swallowed. Mr. Weasley glanced worriedly at the minister, who was looking intently at Harry. "Well they've only gotten worse. But yesterday and last night were the only times it caused me to do magic. I swear," Harry insisted desperately, "I couldn't help it."

He left out the part about Voldemort. It was already embarrassing enough telling Mr. Weasley and the new minister that he was having nightmare's severe enough to cause accidental magic.

Perspirant had formed on Mr. Weasley's balding scalp. "You did magic again?" he said, sounding alarmed.

Harry nodded solemnly.

The minister nodded. "I believe you."

"Last night?" Gilde pipped in, as if she knew something they did not. "You must be mistaken."

"What do you mean?," Harry frowned at her. "I crack my bathroom mirror last night."

The minister turned to the woman in the booth. "Gilda, Harry's case file, would you?"

Gilda did as request and slid over the manila folder. The minister flipped it open and read, grunting every so often.

"Mm, there is no record of a second breach in the statute of underage wizardry. Just the once at 6:57 am on August 1st," he said. "Are you sure you cracked that mirror with magic?"

"That can't be right" said Harry. He wondering why he was so adamant that he had broken the law not once but twice. Maybe it was because the alternative was far, far worse.

"I can assure you. The ministry does not make mistakes. It was not you who broke that mirror, not with magic."

Harry felt dizzy.

"Now that's settled, there is still the issue of these dreams. I believe Professor Snape could concoct a Dreamless Sleep potion that could help you. I will see if I can have him make a weekly supply for you. Other than that, I see no reason to keep you, Mr. Potter. You are free to go."

"That's it?" said Harry.

The minister nodded. "That's it," he repeated, "You are free to leave. You may also use the private fireplace in my office to return home. Someone such as yourself, should not be walking around among the lower ministry workers."

"You have been very kind, Destaunt," said Mr. Weasley, fatly.

The minister gave a tired nod before turning a most curious eye at Harry. "It is no more than The Boy Who Knows deserves."

There was that name again. The Boy Who Knows. It was a terribly ironic name for him. Not knowing things seemed to be his curse.

Mr. Weasley escorted him into the minister's office and Harry stepped into the fireplace, his mind muggy and confused. It was 10 am and he was already exhausted. And yet the crack in his bathroom mirror still gnawed at him like some flesh-eating maggot that had lodged itself in his ear.

The crack must have been there all along, Harry thought as he grabbed a handful of Floo powder. He stepped into the minister's fireplace, threw the powder down, said, "the Burrow," and then disappeared in a rush of green flame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. This is, uh, my first fanfiction. I grew up on Harry Potter and I have reread them more times then I can count. There is so much...well, magic and so many possibilities that it presents. So i thought, what if I could take the magic system further, flesh it out, and xpand upon J.Ks brilliant world. So the World Beyond started with the basic idea that Harry's world was not the only one that exists. It was inspired by a fascination with mirror and their supernatural qualities throughout pagan history and of course 10th Kingdom which was one of my favorite made for TV series growing up. There was so much that J.K. mentioned in the books, that, for whatever reason, she didn't explore with the reader. So this is my own take on those little bits.
> 
> I'm so excited for you all to read it.
> 
> Well I suppose this is it then. *breathes* Enjoy!
> 
> Update: I compiled both chapter 1 and 2 because of it resolves the problem with the ministry as well as Harry's dreams and it didn't feel right to separate the two just for the sake of a cliff hanger.


	2. So Much Missed

“Welcome to our home, yet again,” Mr. Weasley said, brushing down his cloak and sending great plumes of ash into the living room. 

When it settled on the carpet and Harry saw at long last the Weasley’s living room, the misery of the last three months slipped away. It was more brilliant every time he saw it. Rough wooden shelves lay off kilter on the walls; there was a grandmaster clock that told, not time, but every one of the Weasley’s whereabouts from Home to Mortal Peril; and wafting in from the kitchen was the savory scent of Mrs. Weasley’s cooking.

“Molly, dear, I’m home. And I’ve brought Harry,” Arthur called out as he hung his cloak on the hook near the fireplace.

A plump woman with fiery red hair came shuffling in. Floating alongside her was a plate, being thoroughly scrubbed by an spunky sponge. She took one look at Harry and her eyes began to water.

“Harry!” she sniffed. “Oh, look at you. You’ve gotten too skinny. Are that Aunt and Uncle of yours keeping you fed?”

Harry put a hand to his stomach. He would have argued that it was his recent growth spirt, not a lack of food, that had him so thin, but Mrs. Weasley didn’t give him the chance, as she attempted to get every question in that she could. That was, until she halted on the ministry, deciding Harry's future in the wizarding world was the most pressing.

“How was the hearing, dear? I trust everything went well," she asked tentatively.

“Destaunt was willing to forget the whole thing,” said Mr. Weasley.

“Is that right?” said Mrs. Weasley, raising a eyebrow at Harry.

“Yeah,” said Harry.

“Well, there might finally be a minister finally worthy of the post," She placed her hands on her hips. "But I shouldn’t keep you. Best go upstairs. Ron is up in his room with Hermione. Ron’ll show you to the spare room. We’ve fixed it up especially for you. Dinner will be at seven. And don’t worry, you’ll find your trunks are already up there for you to change.”

Harry looked down at his oversized muggle clothes and smiled to himself. Perhaps that was the reason he looked so skinny. 

“Thanks,” he said to both Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

“No thanks is necessary, dear,” she gathered Harry into her arms. “Now, go on upstairs.” She released him. “They’re waiting for you.”

Harry thanked her again before climbing the crooked staircase to Ron's room. On the other side of the door, Harry heard a bout of laughter, and then another. He placed his palm on the rough wood and stayed there for a moment, just feeling the vibrations of Hermione and Ron’s voices. It was a weird thing to do, Harry knew that, but considering his summer was spent with the Dursleys, he counted his blessing that he hadn’t gone fully insane.

Then Harry creaked it open. The voices went quiet. And the next moment the door was swinging open and a girl with bushy brown hair and a button nose, dashed out at him.

“Hermione!” blushed Harry, feeling her squeezed him close into a hug. 

“Oh, Harry! I’ve missed you,” said Hermione, burying her face in his shoulder. He tried desperately to swat away the blotches of red that were surely forming on his cheeks, but the heat of her seeped through his clothes keeping his blood from cooling.

When she finally let go, she eyed him curiously, adding, “You’ve gotten taller. You didn’t tell me that in your letters.”

“Never mind that, Hermione,” Ron butted in. He was sitting on his bed, fidgeting with his wand. “What happened at the ministry? Why’d you do magic?” 

“Everything’s fine. I’m not in any trouble,” Harry finally said, rubbing at his neck. “it was accidental magic again. It was more embarrassing than anything else.”

As true as that was, Harry couldn't help but feel wrong not telling Hermione and Ron that his dreams were about Voldemort. Especially ones that involved Voldemort cracking his bathroom mirror only to wake up and find it actually cracked. He didn't want to worry them, that was all. 

"Oh," Ron said, and then he chuckled. “That's nothing to be embarrassed about. Charlie did loads of accidental magic when he was a kid. Lasted until he was seven, the way Bill tells it! And I don’t think they can kick you out of Hogwarts for doing something like that.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Hermione corrected. “Uncontrollable emotional magic can be a sign of unstable magic within a witch or wizard. And Hogwarts has expelled students in the past when it threatens other students.” Hermione eyes found Harry, and she winced, as if just now understanding what her words meant for Harry. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-” 

"Great, so I could still be expelled then." said Harry.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” insisted Ron.

“I suppose Ron, is right." granted Hermione, though she didn't look convinced. "You've only done accidental magic once before and that was with the Dursleys. Which of course is understandable.”

“Yeah, beside Charlie never got expelled,” added Ron.

“Didn’t you just say Charlie was seven when his outbursts stopped? Honestly, Ron, that would be before Hogwarts,” said Hermione, who promptly bit down on her lips to keep from saying any more.

“Fine. But you said it yourself, I’m sure it’s just his Aunt and Uncle that are pushing him to do it. I know I’d go insane if I had them as my family. Aunt Muriel is already enough to handle, and I only have to see her once a year at Christmas.”

Harry didn't answer rigth away, which cause Ron and Hermione to both looking at him. Judging by the expectant looks on their faces, they wanted confirmation, confirmation that the Dursleys had been the cause of his accidental magic. 

“oh…yeah, definitely,” said Harry quickly 

Ron's eyes lit up. “Oh!” he said, seeming to remember something. He got down on his knees and began rummaging under his bed. A moment later Ron was handing Harry a Daily Prophet.

“I saved a few issues for you. I’ve got loads more. I know you’ve been flying dark these last few months.”

“It’s a bit silly,” said Hermione. “I mean, you’re bound to find out sooner or later.”

“Thanks,” said Harry uneasily. “But I think I already know.” 

He looked down at the front page, hoping to find some answers as to Voldemort's activity. Staring back at him, was his own face. And written across the top in blocky letters were the title, “The Boy Who Knows.” It was that name again.

“We know how much you hate media attention…” Hermione trailed off sympathetically.

The further he read down the page, the more he felt sick. Several articles either speculated about what Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean he preferred, or which toenail hygiene products he used. To top it off, many were overflowing with quotes he didn’t even remember saying. He didn't find any answers about Voldemort, just more madness.

“Honestly, you’d think they’d have much more important things to write about in the Daily Prophet,” huffed Hermione. “Like, oh I don’t know, perhaps about the Dark Lord and the countless people who have gone missing.”

“What? Missing?” asked Harry, alarmed.

“Yeah, more and more every week. Mostly from great houses,” added Ron, going pale. “It’s scary, actually,” 

“At least they believe you,” said Hermione. “That’s a start. Though it took You Know Who nearly killing Fudge to manage that.” She had always been annoyed with the ministry, but it seemed that Hermione’s agitation had grown to a fiery hatred over the summer. 

“We marked some articles we thought you should read,” Ron leaned over Harry’s shoulder.

Harry flipped through the Prophet to a page marked with a black x. The first article read, ‘Hargreaves Returns’ in bold script letters. Below was a moving color image of a woman, who looked a bit like an oversized bird – a great blue crane popped into mind - with her sharp nose, pale skin, and navy robes that billowed like wings. The picture was taken just outside of the ministry, where she was scowling at a rush of journalists.

Hargreaves Returns: Famed witch, Annalie Hargreaves, returned to England Saturday morning after a mysterious six-month research mission abroad…

“Oh, not that one. One down,” Ron pointed over Harry’s shoulder to an article that was squeezed into the margins.

“Sorry-” apologized Harry, who promptly skipped the article and read the next one,

Thievery at the Quicksilver Quarry  
Undetectable thievery. The Waterford Quarry was robbed of seven tons of quicksilver located in its Unbreakable Vault late Saturday night. Little is known at this time as to the identity of the burglars, since not so much as a trace magical or otherwise was left in their wake. Ministry officials have indicated that it may have been the work of the Syble twins or a quarry employee, for the vault in question has previously hailed by the Goblin of Gringotts to be unbreakable. Officials have not denied the possible use of the Imperius curse.

“That’s only one of several strange happenings in the wizarding world. It’s obvious the ministry is losing this fight,” Hermione glowered uneasily at the Prophet. “We think that’s why they are focusing so much on you with sub rate articles. I mean honestly, don’t you find it odd that they’re blaming grand larceny on common crooks-”

“It’s Voldemort,” said Harry. He was sure of it. He didn't know why, but it was him.

Ron winced at the name but nodded in agreement.

“We know. Dad says the Ministry’s been scrambling to find You-Know-Who, but they can’t even catch the Death Eaters you named. Things are getting bad. Everyone’s worried and going mental cause of it. Just last month Cornelius withdrew his entire vault from Gringotts and it’s rumored that he just left the country. And every day the ministry hasn’t caught Him, the worse it gets, I swear.

“It’s all too like ancient Rome. I’m serious,” Ron urged as Hermione gave him a skeptical look. “At the end of the Roman Empire, and I’m talking about the wizarding rule not the made-up muggle one, the Roman Legion began losing every battle against the Dark Wizards of the Visigoth. The Roman cives didn’t want to admit it, so they turned to the games, false idols, and prostitution. Alaric ended up sacking the city and nobody even noticed until Alaric was marching down their streets…” Ron trailed off and quickly went red with embarrassment as he looked at both Harry and Hermione, both of whom were blinking in shock.

“He’s- he’s right,” said Hermione. “It is similar, dangerously so.”

“Right, but what does someone want with quicksilver?” Harry posed.

Harry’s eyes swept past Ron, who shrugged, and landed on Hermione.

“I was wondering the same thing. So I did some research and I did managed to find one book on the subject - though most of its pages were either disintegrating or missing entirely,” Hermione scowled as if it were an atrocity for a book to be in such condition. “Anyway, I found out that quicksilver only has one use really: the crafting of magic mirrors. And there are really only two types: communication mirrors and traveling mirrors. And both are really expensive because barely anyone can create them anymore. Finding someone who can craft a magic mirror is like finding someone who can fashion wands like Ollivander.”

“Yeah, that shipment of quicksilver must have been worth loads of galleons,” Ron sighed longingly. “Mum’s got a two-way mirror in her room, though it doesn’t work anymore. Was a family heirloom and I reckon was probably the most expensive thing we owned. We used to be able to talk to our great aunt up near Alnwick. Yeah, until my first cousin once removed shattered the other one. Cousin Barnaby was never really right after that - Great Aunt Tessa was furious.”

“Most magic mirrors are heirlooms or relics nowadays.”

“But what would Voldemort want with quicksilver, if he can’t even create a magic mirror?” Harry shuttered as he remembered the dream of Voldemort standing in his bathroom mirror. He shook his head, as if to empty its contents.

Ron visibly winced at the name again.

Thoughtful, Hermione screwed up her face and shook her head. “Abduct someone who can, I suspect,” she said. Then she added worriedly, “If he hasn’t already.”

“Yeah! Maybe Death Eaters will start communicating by mirror. Planning their attacks and stuff,” Ron threw out, and then looked sheepish. “Wouldn’t be a terrible idea.”

“I don’t know,” Hermione’s frown deepened, “Mirror travel is not like the Floo network, or even disapperation to some extent. Mirror magic is virtually undetectable by any monitoring charm, including the ministry’s. It’s more likely Voldemort is compiling a traveling mirror network across England. But again, they would need a speculomancer to create so many. Not to mention the amount of quicksilver to achieve something like that would be monstrous.”

Harry shivered as a disturbing thought came to him. “Hermione,” he said, “would it be possible for Voldemort to travel into a Hogwarts mirror?” Or into a bathroom mirror with a protection spell surrounding it.

“No, that is impossible,” said Hermione firmly. “Honestly, have either you stopped to read Hogwarts a History yet?”

“I’m still getting around to that...” Ron trailed off.

“At this point I’ve recited nearly the whole book to you two. It’s impossible,” she stressed every syllable, “because Hogwarts has powerful wards on all its mirrors. Besides traveling mirrors must be linked to each other on both sides to work. So either the wards on the mirrors would have to weaken significantly – which is highly unlikely because they are reinforced several months out of the year – or a speculomancer at Hogwarts would have to break a ward and link it to another outside of Hogwarts. And I don’t see that happening.”

Harry nodded absently but his mind was now somewhere else. He frowned out the Burrow window. Just beyond it, the trees swayed in a heavy wind, and grey clouds cursed with angry jets of lightening illuminating the English countryside ever so briefly. His gut seemed to mirror the storm, turning, as if to warn him of something coming.

“Of course, there is a third type of magic mirror,” said Ron offhandedly, “but mirrors like that haven’t been seen for over a thousand years.” 

Harry turned away from the window, and gave Ron a, yes? look. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione roll hers.

“Honestly, you don’t believe those stories?”

“What do you mean a third type?” asked Harry urging Ron to get on with it.

Ron ignored Hermione. “Some say there are mirrors that can take you places. Very odd places,” he said.

Hermione scoffed softly.

“What?” Ron rounded on her.

“Those are folktales, Ron. That type of magic is impossible. There’s no proof.”

“This is Voldemort we are talking about. If anyone can do the impossible it’s him,” said Harry firmly. “Now what odd places, Ron.”

“The ‘accounts,’ as you call them, don’t make sense. They are the ravings of mad witches and wizards,” Hermione persisted. “Listen, Harry, no one actually believes these stories. If there was evidence, real evidence, then maybe.”

“I don’t care. I want to know.”

“There is evidence in wizard myths. You wouldn’t understand,” Ron added hotly to Hermione before continuing. “There is a type of mirror that can take you places – places that aren’t exactly our world.” Ron took a dramatic pause to let that sink in. However, Harry was more confused than enlightened. 

“Uh…” That had not been what Harry had been expecting. Rather, it sounded far fetch even in the wizarding world. “Really?”

“See I told you. Simply ridiculous,” said Hermione as if that proved her point. 

As Ron folded his arms and huffed, Harry turned back to the Daily Prophet. A tiny headshot caught his eye. It was of a pale sharp faced man with brilliant blonde hair: Lucius Malfoy. Below it, shoved into the corner of the page, was a small thin block of text that barely informing the reader of its subject.

Death Eater’s Still at Large  
Death Eaters identified by young Harry Potter, The Boy Who Knows, are still at large. Lucius Malfoy, a wizard who was known for his political clout in the Ministry of Magic, has not been seen since The Boy Who Knows’ return from the final trial of the Triwizard tournament. The Ministry of Magic has raised the bounty on all known Death Eaters, now 10,000 galleons per head.

Harry gave a nervous glance out of the window. It had begun to rain. And the drops on the roof that started as a patter soon became a roar. So, Lucius Malfoy had not been captured, which meant he could be anywhere.

The newspaper crinkled in his hands. This year at Hogwarts would not be the quiet one he had hopelessly wished for. His testimony had placed a warrant on Draco Malfoy’s dad (and half the Slytherin’s parent’s). If Malfoy hated him before, it would be nothing compared to how he would despise him now.

Finally, Harry turned the page to the last marked article and all thoughts of Death Eaters and Malfoys washed away as if they had never been. There, in miniscule font that wrapped around the corner, was a tiny article that read, ‘Sirius Black Dropped of All Charges.’ 

The world seemed to brighten a little and something deep within Harry released like a damn. The Ministry had believed every word of his testimony. Things had changed. Really changed. And some, it appeared, for the better. 

Sirius was a free man. He did that. At least he had righted one of his wrongs that night in the shrieking shack. 

Judging by his godfather’s new haircut and clean-shaven jaw, he seemed to be enjoying the life of a free man. 

Harry folded up the paper and felt a coldness on his cheeks. It pooled at his chin and dripped onto the page.

“Done then?” said Ron nervously, pulling Harry’s mind back to him. “Good. Look, I need to tell you both something.” 

“What is it?” croaked Harry, clearing his throat. He subtly wiped at his eyes with a sleeve and hoped no one had noticed the tears that had streaked down his cheeks.

“Can you two sit, you’re making me nervous,” said Ron, who looked every bit so.

“Honestly, Ron, will you tell us what has been bothering you?” barked Hermione.

“Can you just sit… please.”

Harry and Hermione exchanged bemused looks, before finding a spot on the hard wood floor. After a moment of silence, where Ron gathered his thoughts, Hermione blinked at him as if to say, we’re waiting…

Ron took a deep breath into his shoulders and began. “This summer I was in Romania, visiting my brother Charlie, right?” he rushed.

“Yeah, you’ve only mentioned it a hundred times in your letters,” teased Harry.

“Let me finish,” strained Ron. Whatever he was about to say was clearly something he had been wanting to spill for some time. “While I was in Transylvania, I met someone… and, well, we started talking. And talking turned into-”

“Ron,” Harry stopped him, “are you… seeing someone?”

“Yeah.” Ron’s ears went scarlet.

“Oh Ron, that’s really great,” said Hermione, “I’m happy for you.”

“Really great? Hermione, that’s brilliant,” exclaimed Harry. “Do we get to meet her? Is it long distance? I assume she is attending Durmstrang. Does Krum know-” 

Harry jerked his head down as horrible memories flooded over him, threatening to grag him to the floor.

“Are you alright, Harry?” asked Hermione, rushing over to him.

“I’m fine,” Harry said weakly, pushing through a wave of nausea. He wiped sweat from his face and gave a dim smile to Ron. There was no rhyme of reason for what would trigger the memories. Unfortunately, he doubted any amount of sleeping draft would help with those. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“Uh…” Ron and Hermione exchange concerned looks before Ron smiled brightly at Harry, pretending as if nothing had happened. 

Thank you, Ron, Harry thought.

“Well, she was uh… homeschooled most of her life. She only recently had to transfer to Hogwarts this year…”

“Ron’s told you about his new girlfriend, then?” interjected someone who was not Hermione, Harry or Ron.

All three of them spun around to see Ginny leaning in the door frame, her arms folded, attempting to blow a stray lock of red from her face. She was smirking at Ron, but once she caught sight of Harry she paused, looking stunned.

Harry was sure he shared the expression. It was the first time he had seen Ginny in three months, yet it felt as though he had seen her face just yesterday. In a way you have, he thought as indistinct memories floated into mind. She had been there, with him in the bathroom, had whispered his name, had tried to warn him that Voldemort was coming. But it was a dream and Harry knew that. Of course he did. So why was there this feeling that Ginny was thinking similar thoughts.


	3. An Unexpected Visitor

Harry needed a good nap; clearly his brain wasn’t making any sense. Ginny couldn’t possibly have had the same dream. And yet she studied him, her lips parted as though words sat reluctantly on her tongue. 

You’re going mad., Harry thought. Exhaustion is making you delusional. At having a moment to rest, without the worry of expulsion, he was beginning to realize just how tired he was.

It was Ginny who looked away first, swallowing whatever she was about to say, and regaining her buoyant nature. Harry did the same, brushing aside thoughts of rubbish dreams and turning to look at Ron, who was giving Ginny a magnificent scowl. 

“Did you tell them everything?” she asked Ron, the corners of her mouth twitching.

“Quit it,” he growled back. “If you haven’t noticed we are having a private conversation.”

Ginny ignored him and bounced into the room, as if she owned it. “She’s just a very fascinating person is all. And that you - of all people - would date a Romaji witch, Ha!”

Harry frowned at the word. Romaji. It must have been yet another piece of the wizarding world that he did not understand. The name, The Boy Who Knows, had just climbed its way past ironic to just cruel. Hoping that someone would explain it without him having to ask (and risk sounding like an infant), Harry kept silent.

"How you managed to convince her to come to Hogwarts, I will never know."

Ron’s ears lit up like a Christmas tree. “I told you to quit it!”

“I don’t know why you’re getting mad at me? I actually approve of her,” she shrugged. “Unlike most people.” 

Ron’s eyes flew wide with pure malice. “I don’t need your approval, you slimy slugworm!” He clenched his fist so tight, his knuckles went white. 

It wouldn’t have surprise Harry if Ron had pulled out his wand and jinxed her right there. Granted, Ron would probably walk away with a colony of bats flying from his nostrils. It had been a rumor since their first year that Ginny was unnaturally gifted at jinxes and counter-jinxes. What with Fred and George being able to jinx a household object to do just about anything, you’d think it ran in the family. And yet, Harry had sat next to Ron in charms too many times to believe that.

Ginny ignored Ron.

“Hermione, you’re single. Hogwarts’ most eligible now that you’re not dating…” Ginny caught Harry’s eye and stopped herself from saying the name that was on her tongue. It would seem Mrs. Weasley had gotten to all the Weasley’s. “Anyway, we should visit Mrs. Bippity’s Love Shop in Hogsmeade this year.”

“Oh yes. That sounds wonderful,” Hermione agreed. “You should join us, Harry-”

The room suddenly became very hot, and Harry put his hand to his neck to try and cool it. She was asking him to go to the love shop with her? 

“…and you too Ron,” Hermione finished. “With your girlfriend of course.”

Harry felt the weight of disappointment nearly crush him into the floor. “What’s a Romaji witch?” he blurted - anything to change the subject.

The three of them looked at Harry, and judging by the baffled looks on their faces, they all thought he must be slow for not knowing something so obvious. All except for Hermione who always had Harry’s back when it came to this kind of stuff. They both grew up with muggles, the only difference being that Hermione had a knack for the ins and outs of the wizarding world. Whereas Harry, sometimes felt lost trying to navigate it.

“Romaji’s are what many muggles and wizards alike called magical gypsies," Hermione said with an edge to her voice. "They are barely even recognized by the Ministry of Magic and so don't usually attend schools like Hogwarts. So they have their own magic that’s, well, not entirely conventional.”

Unconventional magic? Harry had been under the impression that there was only one type of magic: wand magic with charms and spells and the like. Of course there was House Elf, goblin, and centaurs magic but they weren’t exactly human, were they.

“Ginny!” Mrs. Weasley’s voice carried up from the Kitchen. “I need your help downstairs cleaning the dishes.”

“But Mom!” Ginny yelled back, severely annoyed.

“Ginerva Molly Weasley, don’t talk back to me. Get down here this instant!” Then she added, “Hope you're finding everything alright, Harry dear.”

Ginny gave a huff but ultimately stomped from the room. 

“Honestly, I don’t know what has gotten into her,” Ron scowled after Ginny, remembering how angry he was that she had barged in. “Must be girl stuff. I hate it when they act this way.”

“Ronald Weasley!” exclaimed Hermione, as if he had just kicked Crookshanks.

“What?” Ron shrugged, oblivious.

“Oh, honestly,” she said. Then she glared at Harry, before storming from the room. 

“What did I do?” Harry turned to Ron.

“As if I know,” Ron scoffed. “I’m happy Elena doesn’t act that way.”

Harry perked up, interested in this new piece of information. “That’s her name, then? Elena?”

Ron nodded, and as he stared through the wall a smile tugged at his cheeks.

“Wait,” Harry frowned, “if Elena has been home-schooled, then how is she coming to Hogwarts?”

“Well, she talked to Dumbledore didn’t she. He was apparently more than willing to accept her into Hogwarts.”

\---------------  
Harry’s time at the burrow was as expected. Marvelous. He and Ron played several games of Wizard’s Chess, which Harry consistently lost. Later into the afternoon, Fred and George stopped by the room to tease Ron seeing as Ginny had told the entire family about his girlfriend. Then just before four, Harry slipped away for a few minutes and sunk into his bed for a nap. Dinner was announced by the chime of the grandfather clock, and Harry rushed downstairs to the smell of roast duck, mashed potatoes, and firewhiskey. All was perfect.

Yet in the middle of the meal, something happened that he did not expect. There came a pounding at the front door. 

Judging by the significant looks exchanged by both Molly and Arthur, they were not expecting company. Excused herself from the table, Molly walked cautiously to the door. As she did so, everyone at the table grew more rigid by the second. Even Fred and George's loud chewing grew faint as they caught on to the vibe at the table. Arthur Weasley looked the most on edge as he crept his wand out from under his cloak.

Then Mr. Weasley turned to Harry his brow set. “Get down,” he warned. There was danger in his voice.

Reluctantly, Harry did as he was told and slipped from his chair and ducked under the table. Between human legs and chair legs, he kept a sharp watch on the bottom half of Mrs. Weasley as she reached the door. Harry’s heart pounded faster as she creaked it open. The mental image of Mrs. Weasley flying from the door in burst of green light was burning a hole in his stomach. And Harry lurched forward by instinct to get there before-

“Oh, I didn’t know you would be joining us tonight?” Mrs. Weasley said sounding severely relieved. 

Harry paused, at the edge of the table yet still blind to the visitor. Molly Weasley would not greet the Dark Lord like that. 

A rough voice spoke. “Sorry, Molly, I hope I’m not intruding,” the man apologized. “I came here as soon as I could. Where is he? Is he Inside?”

Wheels turned in Harry’s head, for he knew that voice. 

“I wanted to see my godson, Molly” the man at the door said louder still, and Harry got the sense he was trying to peer past the door-frame and into the dining room.

He knew that voice. But he didn’t just know that voice, he missed it. He loved it. It was the voice of a free man, and his family.

Sirius,” shouted Harry, nearly stumbling out from under the table and knocking over an empty chair to reach him. 

At the sight of Harry, Sirius Black, once escaped convict of Azkaban, beamed a smile more brilliantly than Harry had ever seen. The lines and deep shadows that usually cut his godfather’s face seemed to soften with the light of it. And in that moment, he looked more like the man in the photo Harry kept in his bedside table than he had ever seen him.

Sirius gathered him into a hug that, to Harry, didn’t last long enough. He breathed him in, clutching onto him until his fingers ached. His godfather was warm and smelled of wet dog. Perfect.

“Harry. It’s good to see you.” He then addressed Mr. Weasley. “Are you going to invite me in?”

“Yes, of course. come in, come in,” Molly said, still a bit flustered from the scare.

At her approval, Sirius stepped into the house. Not at all abashed at interrupting their meal, he waved at the Weasleys and Hermione, who all seemed too shaken to speak. Arthur was sweating, as he returned his wand to its sleeve. Even Fred and George couldn’t think of any joke to lighten the aftershock. Harry could only guess why; the attack on Fudge’s estate meant no house was safe anymore.

“Can I steal Harry away for a moment?” he asked them.

“Of course. The living room. That should be open to you,” Mr. Weasley waved in a general direction, relief mingling with slight annoyance at having been frightened so.

Harry’s godfather’s hand rested with a paternal firmness on his shoulder as he was led into the living room. There Sirius stopped and turned Harry around to get a good look at him.

“Happy Birthday, Harry.”

“Thanks,” said Harry. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“Sorry about that. I didn’t know when I would get a moment. Things have been manic these last few months, and my place has been back at Grimmauld Place with the Order.”

At the mention of Sirius’s family home, Harry grimaced. Sirius had offered to let him stay there over the summer, but back then he was still a convict and running from the law. Dumbledore didn’t think it the best idea at the time. However, what perked Harry’s interest was that name again, the Order. Mr. Weasley had mentioned it before taking him to the ministry.

“What’s this Order?” asked Harry.

“Wait… Molly and Arthur didn’t tell you?” halted Sirius.

“Uh, no…” admitted Harry.

Sirius scratched his head. “The Order, Harry. What were they thinking not telling you something like that?”

“Well tell me now then,” snipped Harry, irritated that he was out of the loop yet again.

“Why it's the Order of the Phoenix, of course!” he said, as if it should ring a bell.

Harry breathed out his frustration, and said with a biting calmness, “Sirius, I don’t know what that is.”

“Oh,” Sirius exclaimed as if struck by a particularly nasty curse. “You don’t know?! It’s the Order! Your parents and I, Lupin and the Longbottoms, Dumbledore. We stood against You Know Who the first time, and we are gathering a force to fight this time around.” Sirius glance darkly to the side. “Since the Ministry is doing little good. But if things keep going the way they are, Dumbledore will act. He’s already forming a plan.” Sirius leaned into Harry and smirked. “Destaunt wouldn’t believe how many of his little ministry workers are secretly working for the Order.”

Harry remembered the tattered old photograph that Mad Eye Moody (Barty Crouch Jr.) had shown him in his office at Hogwarts. The name finally jogged his memory. Nearly every member in the picture was no longer living, including his parents.

“You’re going to fight Voldemort… by yourselves?” blurted Harry incredulously. “You can’t! They’ve got Aurors for that.”

Harry clenched his fist to keep them from trembling. The worry that he might lose his godfather after only just getting him back, was too much to bear. Sirius was the only family he had left, true, legal family. He couldn’t lose another person he loved! Not to Voldemort. Not again. 

“We have a few auras in the order too,” Sirius tried to comfort him. “The ministry is coming apart at the seams, running around like a bunch of chickens with their heads cut off. Voldemort has gone underground again, and we are the only thing that can stop him when he resurfaces. Besides, it won’t just be by ourselves-” Sirius grabbed Harry’s shoulders and gave him an encouraging look. “Because we will have you. You’ve defeated him before. Hell, you’re the Boy Who Knows. I have no doubt you’ll know how to defeat him again when the time come. Because this time you’ll have help.” The wrinkles seemed to return to Sirius’ face. “And I’ll be there. I won’t let you face him alone. Not again, if I can help it,” he finished, as if swearing a vow.

Harry nodded slowly, taking that as the promise it was. But fighting alongside his grandfather against Voldemort… he didn’t know if he could put Sirius in danger like that. At least if he joined, he could keep an eye on Sirius, maybe convince him not to fight. If there was one thing that Harry and Sirius agreed on, it was that Harry would have to battle Voldemort one last time. But there was no way he’d let Sirius be there when he did. Life wasn’t a fairy tale. He doubted it would end like one.

“I’ll join,” he finally said.

Sirius placed his hands on his hips and gave a fatherly smile.

“I can’t tell you how proud of you I am,” he said. Then he cleared his throat and reached into his pocket. “Now I have something for you. Just a present. For your birthday. It’s nothing special. It’s just, well, I’d like to talk to my own godson while he’s at my alma mater, without speaking through a fireplace.”

From his pocket, he pulled a small velvet pouch and loosened its tassels. Then, Sirius dug his hand in. Where his fingers should have met fabric, they continued downward until his entire arm fit into a bag that was only three fingers deep. From it he pulled a small mirror, no bigger than a modern car reflector, with rich wooden carvings along its frame. 

“It is a two-way mirror. I told you it wasn’t much. Really, just a selfish present…” Sirius scratched his neck, where stubble was coming back in full force.

Harry took it and brushed his fingers over its richly carved frame. “It’s perfect.”

Sirius let out a noise that sounded like a yip. “Good! I’m glad you like it,” he barked. “Oh and remember to keep it hidden. Strictly speaking, unregistered mirrors aren’t allowed in Hogwarts.”

Harry frowned up at him. “Can’t I just register it then?”

“Hogwarts has rarely been lenient on them. And their bound to crack down on all school rules now that He’s back,” growled Sirius, almost defiantly, before looking to the door. “I should get going. I wish I could stay longer Harry, but Remus and the Order are demanding.” Sirius looked off to the side.

“But you just got here. Stay for dinner, please.”

“Sadly, I’ve already promised Remus I’d have dinner with him. He’s gotten into cooking. I think it’s his way of coping with all the stress he’s under. Against my better judgement, I agreed to be a taste tester for his new Barnacle Blitz.” Either Harry was imagining things, or Sirius was actually blushing. And he did not press him on the issue, no matter how badly he wanted to.

“I’ll see you soon then, won’t I?” asked Harry.

Sirius placed a hand on the mirror in Harry’s grasp. “As long as you have this with you, we can see each other any time. Just remember to say my name into the mirror. It should do the rest.” Then he turned to address the dining table, where the Weasley’s and Hermione had nearly finished their plates. “Thank you.”

Sirius pulled open the door, and, with a finality, swung back to Harry.

“Happy birthday,” he said. And then his godfather grimaced into the night before vanishing.


	4. A Very New Year

The breaks squealed as Hogsmeade storefronts drifted into view, humble and charming. Beyond them were the Hogwarts towers, windows aglow like fireflies in the night. It was as Harry had left it.

Once they had come to a full stop, Harry turned to look at the empty seats beside him. Ron and Hermione had informed him just before they boarded that they had been chosen to be prefects and so had to sit with the other prefects in a special train car. Apparently, that included Malfoy, much to the chagrin of Ron, who complained loudly of the injustice that the sniveling rat could be chosen to be a prefect.

With Draco on his mind, Harry recalled seeing the Slytherin back on platform 9 ¾ with the silvery prefect’s badge pinned to chest. It would have been difficult not to see him, what with the sneer he had been giving Harry, as if trying to skewer him with his eyes. It was the same look he had expected Lucius Malfoy to give as well, but Draco’s father had not been with him. It was his mother who had hugged him goodbye and watched sadly as he boarded the train. That would be the first time Harry hadn’t seen Lucius see Draco off to Hogwarts. Whether there was any correlation to the dark misery that seemed to hang over Draco like cloud, Harry didn’t know.

The train car jostled before petering to a stop. Resting his eyes for a moment, Harry sighed, and, pressing himself up, gathered his luggage and departed the train.

Rain slicked the stations pavers, and Harry's first step landed him in a puddle. With a look down, he sighed in resignation. The muddy water had submerged his black shoe up to the ankle.

“First Years, gather ‘round! First yea- Oh. Harry!” a great man boomed, his lantern swinging as he waved.

The next moment Hagrid was bounding towards him, unfortunately knocking down a few first years and nearly hitting a few others with the massive lantern to get by. “Sorry. Sorry,” he apologized. “Er. Sorry.”

Harry lifted his shoe and tried, in vain, to shake off the wet. “Hagrid,” Harry gave up and beamed at his friend, holding out a hand to shake Hagrid’s.

Hagrid ignored Harry’s outstretched hand and nearly squeezed the life out of him with a backbreaking hug instead. “Hiya, Harry.” - thank Merlin he released Harry before he suffocated -“Welcome back. Ron’s been lookin fer yer. Told me to tell yer he’s saved a carriage,” said Hagrid, pointing Harry in the right direction. “An’ ther was this strange girl with ‘em, well, if I didn’t know any better I’d think she was one of them Romaji folk.” He had nearly whispered the name.

Curious, Harry looked up at Hagrid. “Is that bad?” he asked.

“Ar, of course not,” Hagrid straightened. “It’s just that they usually don’t come to wizarding school, preferring to keep to ther own. Have ther own brand of magic too. Not much is known about it though - ther a very secretive people.”

“Um, Hagrid, what other types of magic are there? And are they really different from, well,” – Harry involuntarily fingered his wand sleeve – “magic taught at Hogwarts?”

“Oh,” Hagrid said, shocked, “I suppose ther are dozens if not hundreds. Some similar to our magic, using wands and the like. And then ther are others that are more rituals and scrying – sacrifices - and stuff like that.” Hagrid explained on as he saw the look on Harry’s face. “Romaji don’t use sacrifices. I don’t think. Scrying mostly, if tales can be believes.” Hagrid smiled to himself. “But I suppose it’s not my job ter teach yer about that, now is et?”

Hagrid laughed, a bellow than nearly shook the pavers.

“Oh, by the way,” Hagrid began again. “couldn’t tell you how excited I was to see you were taking my class again this year! I have quite the surprise. Searched all of Europe this summer collecting one of its rarest breeds fer lessons this year. Just yer wait.”

Harry winced, as Hagrid reminded him that he was taking Care for Magical Creature again his fifth year. Thankfully, Harry had been able to convince Ron and Hermione to sign up with him. For reasons beyond him, Harry felt that it was his duty to take one of the most dangerous classes at Hogwarts because Hagrid was a friend. He just prayed that Hagrid wasn’t breeding anything as dangerous as blast ended skrewts again.

“Can’t wait,” lied Harry.

“Glad ter hear it. Now yer best be going. Ther first years will have a hard time finding the boats if I’m not ther ter guide em.” Hagrid clasped his palms together, turned and called out, “First Year! Gather ‘round!”

“Harry, there you are.” Harry pivoted at his name to see Hermione, looking relived that she had found him. 

However, she was on the other side of the crowd, who resembled a tightly packed heard of black sheep. She watched for an opening in the crowd before she drove in and wadded through the currents. Not being the most athletic person, Hermione was quickly knocked off her feet. And Harry saw, as if in slow motion, her tumble to the ground.

Without thinking, Harry rushed forward, arms outstretched to catch her. With so many people shuffling through, she could easily be trampled to death. Yet the next thing he knew, Hermione was perfectly right side up with her wand drawn. Not even a hair was out of place on her head. 

But while she looked kept and gracious, Harry must have looked like a fool with his arms outstretched toward her like he was going in for a hug. An unreciprocated hug. Growing up without magic, Harry often forgot its everyday uses.

“Is something wrong?” asked Hermione him, glancing at his outstretched hands.

“Nothing’s wrong. I was just glad to see you is all,” Harry flustered. Was it abnormal how much he wanted to catch her? She is your friend after all - I would do anything to keep her from harm, he told himself.

Brushing those thoughts aside, he buried his hands in his pockets and hurried to one of the carriages with Hermione, where a fiery red head peeked out from atop like a beacon. Like Hagrid said, Ron was not alone. Harry climbed in and sat next Hermione, coming face to face with Ron and one of the most oddly dressed girls he had ever seen. 

Instead of wearing the Hogwarts robes, this girl wore bright purples and golds woven with brown suede and other leathery bits; on her neckline, a pendant sparkled a deep scarlet; long purple, silken gloves extended past her elbow; and in the light of the Victorian lamps that rattled with the carriage, her skin glowed a maple brown with a faint rosiness in her cheeks, cheeks that were framed by two braids of deep brown hair. Everything about this girl was foreign. Even her eyes seemed far larger than normal and gave her the stark resemblance to a very adorable and fiercely standoffish squirrel. 

To say she was not what Harry was expected, would be an understatement. He at least thought she would look pleased to meet Ron’s best friends. It soured his first impression. Or maybe her warded posture, legs crossed, and arms folded was the cause. Or maybe her intense yet placid stare, as if several cogs were silently turning behind those brown eyes of hers as she examined both Harry and Hermione. 

“Er, Elena,” Ron introduced, forehead beginning to glisten. “This is Hermione.”

Elena did not respond, and the carriage grew silent for a time before Hermione reached out a welcoming hand. She was met with no hand in return; instead – watching Hermione cautiously - Elena inclined her head slightly.

Hermione bristled. “Pleased to meet you, Elena,” she said, her extended hand now slowly and awkwardly retreating into her lap. Judging by Hermione’s pursed lips, she was not at all pleased to meet Elena.

It wasn’t hard to believe that Elena’s utter lack of Western courtesy had shocked Hermione. It was a feeling echoed by Harry. Did a hand shake simply not exist in Romaji culture? Just how different was Elena’s culture from theirs? Could she be trusted? The question frightened him. Besides Ron, no one knew who this girl was. She could be anyone, her allegiance could be to anyone. 

Elena’s brown eyes found Harry next, tearing him from his thoughts with a start. The way she examined – glared at him - gave Harry the uneasy feeling that she was reading his mind. Panicking for something else to think about, Harry mimicked Elena’s nod just moments ago. Then he waited for a response. 

Harry shifted in his seat. For a long moment she looked at him, studied him. 

“Harry Potter, you are known to us, even es removed es ve are from your vorld,” she said. “Ve know vat you hev done.” And although she had a heavy accent, the harshness in her word was unmistakable.

Harry's breathing grew shallow. 

The carriage gave a sudden lurch forward, wheels raddling against the cobblestone as it ascended to the castle. Harry repositions himself in his seat – as he had nearly toppled back – and opened his mouth to asked Elena what she meant. But Elena promptly looked out onto the passing storefronts, indicating that she had no intention of carrying on the conversation. So Harry was left to wonder what she meant. 

It seemed that in the first two minutes of meeting this Romaji girl, the two of them had become enemies. Maybe even Hermione too, though, give Hermione a few days and she could forgive anyone.  


No one spoke much for the rest of the ride to the castle. Poor Ron. He looked terribly uncomfortable, glancing from Harry to Elena to Hermione and them back to Elena again. Finally, he sagged a fraction and joined Elena in looking at the passing darkness.

It was the longest carriage ride to the front gates that Harry had ever known in his four years. Fortunately, it did end with Professor McGonagall leading them from their carriages and into the Great Hall. There, each took seats at Gryffindor table next to Seamus, Dean, Ginny, Neville, Fred and George. Curiously, Elena did not sit with them, nor at any of the other House tables. Instead she had joined the first years in shuffling towards the sorting hat.

“Ron,” Harry said to Ron under his breath, “What year is Elena?”

“She’s our year, but she’s a transfer student. They have to be sorted too, don’t they?”

Seamus barked and pointed. “Oy, who does that girl think she is, not dressed in Hogwarts robes,” he said loudly at the table. Harry followed his finger, which was pinned at Elena.

“That girl is Ron’s girlfriend,” Hermione gave Seamus a sharp look.

“Wha-” exclaimed Seamus, baffled as he looked from Ron to Elena with an open mouth. Even Dean - cool as ever - looked curious.

Ron’s ears went pink at the newfound attention. Nearly the entire table was now looking at him.

“Yeah,” admitted Ron sheepishly.

“Have a problem with that, do you Seamus?” Harry stepped in. He may not like – or trust – Elena, but he would be damn if he didn’t have Ron’s back.

The table’s chatter hiccuped at that.

Seamus closed his mouth. “Course not.” Then looking from Elena to Ron, his shock turned to something resembling respect. “Date who you like. Me dad’s a muggle, me mom’s a witch, remember?”

The sorting hat gave a high E from his stool at the front of the Great Hall. The note rang through the Great Hall, quietening theirs and any other lingering conversations.

A wizard’s wand is a dear friend  
A cauldron and their pets  
But there’s none so wise and ancient  
As me, the sorting hat

Every House is a reflection  
A mirror if you would  
Shining back possibilities  
Becoming what you could

A thousand years I’ve placed you all  
To nurture and to learn  
Divide in hopes to strengthen you  
Mistake that should concern

So give arms to your family  
What wonders you will find  
And Cast off these simple frets  
Darkness wakes, break, and lies

Now come right up and put me on  
For the worlds will not wait  
Do not dally, and come make haste  
The future you’ll create

A majority of the four houses and the staff gave the sorting hat its due in a smattering of applause, yet there were many who looked unnerved.

“You hear that part about darkness wakes? I always thought the sorting hat didn’t know much about current affairs,” Ron said to Harry as he clapped. “Makes you wonder what else it knows.”

“Not much, I reckon. You heard it,” Seamus butted in. “It said worlds. Plural. Rubbish grasp in the English language.”

“I’m not sure you were listening,” frowned Hermione. “Worlds is a literary device. The sorting hat was probably referring to the divide between the Hogwarts houses as being worlds apart.”

Seamus wagged a fork in her direction and made to argue, but Professor McGonagall’s sharp voice cut him off. 

“Gabor, Elena,” she called from a piece of unfurled parchment.

Surrounded by nervous and sweaty first years, Elena stuck out like a sore thumb as she pushed her way through. She was obviously a bit taller, however it was not this that set her apart. It was her overall being. While the others were either quivering or gaping at the bewitched ceiling, she looked apathetic to the wonders of Hogwarts.

Elena came to the sorting hat, lifted it from its stool and plopped it onto the crown of her head.

What Harry assumed would be a long pondering moment while the sorting hat decided Elena’s fate, was even longer. The tip of the old leathery hat, swayed, then jolted upright just to sag a moment later. Ron seemed to imitate the hat, fidgeting in his seat as it did. When Harry looked around the table, he noticed many of the faces looked nervous. The Gryffindors didn’t seem keen to let a Romaji witch into their house. Looking past them, Harry saw, shockingly so, that even the Hufflepuffs looked at Elena with a vague wariness.

Finally, the hat’s gash of a mouth split and bellowed, “Gryffindor!”

The Gryffindor table clapped, though not loudly. It seemed they clapped out of pride and duty rather than genuine excitement. Elena seemed to ignore the less than cordial welcome and gave a half-smile to Ron before hurrying over. She straddled the bench next to him and leaned back, propping herself up with her arms. Whereas Harry was slammed between Hermione and Seamus, Elena seemed to be taking up as much space on the bench as was possibly of one her size. Everyone shied away from her, giving her the room to do so.

No one was outright malicious or rude to her, just wary and distant of this stranger, who was from an infamous group of people, didn’t greet any of them with a smile, and couldn’t even be bothered to wear the mandatory robes of Hogwarts.

Elena gave Ron a look that made a majority of those sitting around the table feel very uncomfortable - Harry included. “Gryffindor? I vas hoping ve vould be en the same house.” she said into his ear.

Elena turned to Hermione and leaned in across the table.

“Are girls allowed en the boy’s dormitories efter dark?” she asked, with a hint of a smile.

Hermione blushed, but not so brilliantly as Ron, who nearly fell off the bench. Even Harry had to laughed to distract himself from his burning cheeks.

“They are,” Hermione recovered, “but the boys all share a room and you would have to have their approval to be up there.” She said as if she had just won some argument.

“I don’t mind,” Seamus winked at Ron. “You’re welcome in the room any time.” Then Seamus elbowed Neville, who nervously moved his mouth wordlessly, flustered at being dragged into the conversation.

“I-I, uh, of-of course I don’t,” he spluttered.

Seamus then turned and put his arm around Dean. “What about you, Dean?” he asked with a wry smile.

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, that fine. As long, as you don’t mind if I bring a girl back.” To Harry’s surprise, Dean shot a most inconspicuous look at Ginny, who appeared not to be even listening to the conversation, instead reaching for another slice of pound-cake.

“What would we do without canopy beds and the ear muffle charm, eh?” Seamus laughed. The rest of them joined in, though it was clear that no one found it as funny as Seamus did.

In the sparse, quiet conversations that followed while the first years were sorted, Ron and Elena devolved into a kind of passionate whispering sprinkled with giggles that only new lovers seemed to do, and a few of the Gryffindors discussed the increased activity of the Giant Squid in the Great Lake. After they were all sorted and the hall could talk openly again, Seamus demonstrated his newest pyrotechnique spell, which nearly seared Dean’s eyebrows off - again. 

Finally Dumbledore rose from his gilded armchair and beamed down at them from the podium, a twinkle in his eye. 

“Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. I have a few announcements to make before all of you indulge in tonight's feasts and head off to bed with your bellies full of so many delights.” The twinkle vanished, and Dumbledore’s expression grew dark. “As many of you know, Lord Voldemort is back…”

Whispers swept through the great hall like wildfire. McGonagall quickly stifled even the most stubborn clusters with a sharp clear of her throat.

“Thank you, Professor McGonagall,” continued Dumbledore. “It is true, I am afraid. He is back, and so I ask of each and every one of you to stay on alert. There will be prefects and teachers positioned throughout the castle in an attempt to fortify school security. If you notice anything odd or peculiar within the grounds, I want you to feel comfortable going to them with any information - no matter how small or insignificant it may seem.” Harry could have sworn Dumbledore glanced at him just before saying, “One more thing. During this time anyone found out of bed at night, may find themselves expelled.” 

The Headmaster beamed at them once more, as if he had not just frightened the entire student body. 

“Let us pivot, but not forget.” Dumbledore shifted his attention to the teacher's table. “It is a great honor of mine to welcome our new Defense Against the Arts teacher, Professor Annalie Hargreaves, to the Hogwarts staff.” 

He nodded to a woman with silvery blonde hair, shrouded in deep navy robes and a scowl that seemed etched onto her face. She didn’t stand or wave but continued to glare hautily at the students from down a sharp nose that gave her a striking resemblance to an oversized egret. 

Harry leaned into Hermione and spoke low. “Isn’t that the same woman from the Daily Prophet?”

“It is…” Hermione nodded as she studied their new professor.

Harry turned to join her, studying this Annalie Hargreaves teacher. There was something about her that set Harry on edge. It might have been the way she stared, drumming her fingers impatiently, as if she were wasting her time. Or, that although Dumbledore had introduced her with a smile, she made no attempt to even appear grateful or humble. In that moment, Harry knew that he did not trust Annalie Hargreaves. He did not trust her one bit. Whereas Harry didn’t know what to make of Elena, he knew Hargreaves’ type: arrogant, oppressive, and miserable to be around. Another Snape. 

Dumbledore clapped, and the feast appeared on their tables. “And with that, dig in,” he said

When everyone had eaten their fill and the benches groaned under the weight of well-fed Gryffindor’s, the prefects gathered the houses and led them from the hall. Ron and Hermione were among them. It was odd taking authoritative commands from the two, but Harry did as he was directed and funneled out the Great Hall. 

As he came to the staircases, however, Snape caught hold of his robes and spun him ‘round. The Potions Master did not look pleased. But then again, Harry couldn’t remember a time when he did.

“Potter, come with me.” He took Harry through several corridors, stopping at his potions closet, which was filled to the brim with all manner of rare and expensive potion ingredients. Once inside, Snape removed a small phial from a shelf and presented it to Harry. “The minister has informed me that you have been having nightmares.” - Harry flushed – “Five drops a night under the tongue should do. If you apply the Dreamless Sleep Potion correctly it should last you a week. By then I should have a cauldron ready.”

The phials midnight liquid sloshed against the glass as Harry took it.

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry said more out of obligation than sincerity.

Snape eyed him and promptly swept his robes around to work on some concoction. Believing that to be his cue to leave, Harry made for the door only to be stopped as the Potions Master addressed him once more.

“The memories, Potter, they will fade,” Snape said over his shoulder.

Harry paused, a bit confused. Did Snape just try to console him? The Potions Master had been acting strange ever since he had returned with Cedric. He had even insisted on coming to the ministry with Dumbledore and him to testify. In the end, Harry had been grateful Snape had join them; his sneers were enough from deterring anyone who would otherwise interrupt their exit. 

This was yet another out of character moment for Snape. But how long did it take for something out of character to become a part of their character? It had been several months since the hearing.

Harry ran off, retraced his steps and climbed the stair to Gryffindor tower, where Ron and Hermione were waiting for him. At ten O’clock, Harry retired to his room with Ron. Yet Harry did not sleep, he did not even pull on his pajamas. Instead, he lay on his bed, the crimson Gryffindor canopy drawn and the invisibility cloak resting atop his stomach. It had always been difficult for him to sleep on the first night back, feeling he needed to reacquaint himself with the castle. And this night was no different

Excited, he stared up at the red fabric, fingers fidgeting, waiting to hear the harsh snores of his roommates. They began like a chorus at half past eleven and with them Harry swung his feet from the bed and crept down to the common room with his invisibility cloak tucked under his arm. It seemed to be empty, the only sound being the roaring fire. 

Yet as he crept across the red and gold bannered room, and swung his invisibility cloak over his shoulders, someone tsked behind him.

“Harry Potter has an invisibility cloak… ”

Harry froze, hand on the canvas portrait hole, and swallowed.

But the room had been empty. He was sure of it!

Harry leveled his wand invisibly behind the cloak’s fabric and spun around.

His heart raced as he saw who was with him in the room. It was the one person in Gryffindor tower he didn’t know if he could trust. A person who he had only met just hours ago – Elena Gabor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So something you probably noticed is that Draco seems a little moody, if not downright hostile towards Harry. This needed to be the case in the first several chapters because of his character arch and his role in the war that is coming. As Harry's childhood nemesis, I always thought it was a bit disappointing that Malfoy kept flip flopping between good and evil, unable to make a decision. So in the World Beyond he has to decide. 
> 
> I hope you all like Elena. She is a bit of a wild card, but I think that is what is needed this year at Hogwarts. 
> 
> Also next chapter, get ready for the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and blood-traits!
> 
> p.s. Thank you Paige for helping to bring this chapter to the archive.


	5. The Darkest Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to my betas ArawnAzoth & Kyle for helping to put this chapter up on the archive. You both have been so much help. I cannot thank you enough.

Elena must have fallen asleep on the couch, though her clothes were unruffled, and her hair was still perfectly braided without a strand out of place.

Harry tugged the cloak down from his head. "What are you doing down here?" he said carefully. Stepping closer he saw that Crookshanks was snuggled into a ball by Elena's feet.

"I could ask the same of you, no?" Elena sat up to hug her knee and gave a hard look. Crookshanks stirred, peeked out through heavy lids and then rested his head back onto his forepaws. "I thought it vas against Hogwarts rules to vander the castle at night."

She mimicked a snooty high-pitched voice - it sounded an awful lot like Percy Weasley. And wasn't playful.

"What are you sleeping on the couch for?" asked Harry, frustrated. Sneaking out would have been far simpler if he had just slipped the invisibility cloak on in the dorm room. But he couldn't have risked Dean or Seamus waking up and seeing.

"So many questions, Harry Potter," she taunted him. "I'll tell you vat, if you play a game vith me, then I von't tell anyone about this chance encounter of ours or that cloak of yours. It's a simple game of questions. I ask one, then you answer. Then we svitch. But if one of us does not answer the question truthfully, the game is over.

"So to answer your first question, I can't sleep. I svear, my bed is trying to strangle me. So many sheets and drapes."

"Why do you-" Harry began, but he was cut off by Elena.

"Ah Ah," she stopped him with a finger, "It is my turn to ask the question. Vy are you sneaking out?"

Harry let out a frustrated breath. "I can't sleep," he said simply.

"And sneaking around is vat you do ven you can't sleep?" she cocked an eyebrow.

"Isn't that a second question?"

"This von has two parts," shrugged Elena.

Harry would have left right there, if he didn't feel an odd inclination to stay right there.

"Hogwarts is my home, and I haven't seen it in three months."

"You saw it today, no?"

"Not really," Harry struggled to explain, "I don't know. Hogwarts is different at night."

"Harry Potter is like a cat," Elena said as if discovering something mildly interesting, "alvays curious about vat lies behind the next door. My grandmother has a saying, you know, that a cat who vanders too far may find itself lost."

"Your grandmother, is she- is she a gypsy too?" Harry immediately winced, as he realized just how stupid the question must have sounded.

Elena snorted at that. "Romaji is vat ve call ourselves. Gypsy is a term used by those from the outside looking in. And yes, Harry Potter, she is one of them too." She tilted her head and frowned at him. "Many people in this castle speak your name vith a kind of reverence. And yet, you hate it. Odd, no?"

Harry felt a surge of revulsion as images of shallow articles and faceless people that were so interested in his life came to mind. It was all fake. A charade. If they ever got close enough to know what his life was really like, they would probably start running in the opposite direction.

It more than bothered him that everyone was so happy to forget that Voldemort was back, and instead focus on him of all people. It wasn't like Harry had done anything to stop Voldemort from rising. In fact, sparring Wormtail was the reason Voldemort had returned. That had been Harry's decision. And now the world was going to pay for it.

"There is nothing special about me. Voldemort killed my parents," said Harry angrily, and only vaguely noticed Elena harden at the name. "I reckon he would have killed me too if his own curse hadn't rebounded and nearly killed him. That's why they call me the Boy Who Lived. But you see, it doesn't mean anything. It was just an accident."

The words seemed to poor out of him. And once they stopped Harry felt a twinge of regret. Why would he tell this to Elena? Regardless of her relationship with Ron, she was still a stranger to him.

"It must have been po'erful."

Harry frowned at her. "What must have been powerful?" he asked.

"Your mother's love for you."

The cloak slipped from Harry's shoulders and ruffled on the floor. Only Dumbledore had known about the protection his mother had left him (a protection that was useless now). So how had Elena known that?

He was just about to ask her that very question, when another one decided to barge its way out of his mouth.

"What is it about Ron?" blurted Harry. "I'm just curious," he added, a bit embarrassed at the question.

Elena cocked an eyebrow at that but considered the question for a moment. "Ron is loyal, Harry Potter. He is like a volf in that vay. Reminds me of home." Then Elena smiled deviously at him. "Vat is it about the Granger girl?"

Harry seemed to choke on his own tongue.

Violently, he turned his head away from the firelight to hide cheeks that seemed to be ablaze as well. The fire was too bloody hot. Why would she ask him a question like that? It was rediculous. He didn't- he couldn't-

"Hermione is just a friend," Harry said a bit too forcefully.

A breeze suddenly tickled the back of his neck.

Elena gave a short laugh as if to say and you expect me to believe that? Finally, when it seemed Harry would not respond further, she shook her head and turned to peer into the fire. The firelight danced along her long purple gloves.

"I suppose that ends our game."she said, sounding disappointed. Then shaking her head almost imperceptively said, "You make it hard, Harry Potter."

Harry's frown deepened. "Make what hard," he asked, confused.

"To hate you," she glared at the flames. When Harry opened his mouth to respond, she held up a finger. "No more questions. It is over. I will not tell a soul of this, living or dead. That I promise."

The flames in the hearth brightened for the briefest of moments, and Harry had a strong suspicion that there was magic in that promise.

Harry stared at Elena, feeling a range of emotions, not one of them decipherable.

"It's easier than you know," he said to the floor, before stepping through the portrait hole.

/<0>\

"Bloody hell," moaned Ron, one hand snapping shut the class schedule booklet, while his other was interlaced tightly with Elena's. "It's Defense Against the Dark Arts with the Slytherins again. It almost like the teachers enjoys stuffing us into a small room with Malfoy and the rest of those gits while we practice dangerous spells."

Elena frowned at him, looking confused as to who this Malfoy was. Ron filled her in by making a gagging gesture.

Ever since their 'game' last night, Harry had been keeping his distance from the Romaji witch. He felt as though someone had taken out his insides and hung them to dry for all to see. It left him wondering if Romaji knew curses that could leave one's mind scrambled He felt agitated, uncomfortable, exposed. Would she tell others that it was his fault Voldemort was back? What would his fellow Gryffindors think if they found out? Would they abandon him?

When Harry, Hermione, Ron and Elena found their way into classroom C3, the first thing he noticed was Draco Malfoy, leaning over his desk and whispering darkly to Crabbe. Usually when Harry entered a room, Draco would act proud and haughty, slinging insults about like they were Berty Bot's Every Flavor Beans. Now, Draco's face was a thundercloud, dark, worrying, and dangerous.

His father was a Death Eater. An evil wizard that had stood beside Voldemort as He tried to kill Harry. So why did his heart tug when he watched Draco? Was it because he recognized that look? Harry had felt it his whole life, a gaping hole in his heart where his parents should have been.

He shook his head as if that might rid him of his thoughts. Draco had been nothing but malicious towards him and his friends. Someone like that didn't deserve his sympathy.

But still…

At the sight of Harry, Draco sunk back into his chair and sneered darkly. "Look who it is," he spat, "The Boy Who Knows Nothing."

Right. It was extraordinary how Draco could swing so quickly into the dungeons of Harry's ill will.

The conversations that sprinkled the room faded as Draco clapped slowly. Very slowly. "I'd watch your back this year, Potter." Malfoy then turned his attention to Ron and Elena "And what's this? Weasley and… gypsy scum. Does your family enjoy polluting their blood with filth, Weasley?"

Crabbe gave a few trollish grunts, which Harry assumed were laughter.

"Shut it, Malfoy," warned Harry, stepping forward.

"Come on, let's find a table in the back," urged Ron, his ears going pink.

But as Ron tried to lead them away, Elena tugged her hand from his and spun on Malfoy. "Who are you calling filth, you inbred rodent?" she snapped back at Malfoy.

Harry and Ron froze. As a matter of fact, the entire classroom had gone still. They were all looking at Elena as if she had just jinxed Malfoy. Even Draco stared at her with a stupid shock plastered on his pale sharp face. Hermione, on the other hand, was staring at Elena with the utmost respect.

"What did you say to me?" Draco spluttered back.

Ignoring him, Elena strode past Ron and Harry to a seat at the far end of the room.

"How dare you, you foul blooded-" roared Draco. He dug into his robe and ripped free his wand and leveled it at Elena while her back was turned.

With no time to think, Harry reached for his own wand, followed by Ron and Hermione. They jabbed them at Draco, curses pouring off their tongues.

Then a fifth wand came into the room, though it was not Elena's nor any of the other student's.

"Expelliarmus Regio!" a sharp voice called out from behind them.

The spell hit Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Draco all uniformly. The pulse of magic zipped around Harry's body until it found his hand, where it snapped open his fingers and sent his wand flying backward. Spinning around, he witnessed all four wands tumble through the air towards the teacher's desk, where they landed with a clatter. The blood drain from his face as he saw who stood beside them. It would appear the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had finally arrived.

"Where did she come from," Ron cursed under his breath.

Professor Hargreaves was stroking a bunny that had perched on the desk, snow white and nose twitching. It must have been her familiar, though she couldn't have chosen a more ironic pet. The great bird-like woman had harsh unforgiving eyes, while the bunny glanced around frantically. The bunny looked interestingly at everything that its shifting eyes set upon, while their new professor - through her gaze could likely pierce dragon hide – looked upon the class with apathy as if being there was a chore.

"I will not have you cursing fellow students on the first day of class," she said, continuing to stroke the bunny's coat with a bejeweled hand. "That will be ten points from Slytherin and ten points from Gryffindor for five of you. Point a wand at a student again and detention will not be as severe a punishment as you deserve."

She then knelt at her bag and began unloading books and other miscellaneous things onto her desk as if nothing had taken place. As if she had not just taken forty points from Gryffindor when it was Malfoy's fault for starting the fight in the first place.

Blood rushed back into Harry's head. "That's forty points!" he exclaimed in disbelief. "Malfoy was the one who was about to curse us. We were only protecting-"

Hargreaves looked up sharply, her lip curling. "You will address me as professor. That will be another ten points from Gryffindor," she said, taking out this year's textbook and placing it on her desk. "Now, take your seats, all of you, and open your textbooks to page ten. We will begin in a moment."

Thinking it best to obey before she sent Gryffindor House into the negatives, Harry bit his tongue. Then he wrenched out his textbook and thudded it onto his table beside Hermione.

With a sharp turn to the chalkboard, Hargreaves drew out her wand and swished it. A piece of chalk sprang to life, zoomed across the green board in an assortment of loops and flips until Professor Annalie Hargreaves was scrawled across the board in tight cursive.

"If you are not already aware, I have taught at several schools in several different fields across Europe, from Archeology of the Arcane Arts to Speculomancy," she began. "And now Albus Dumbledore wants me to teach you Defense Against the Dark Arts in the wake of the Dark Lord's return."

The class hushed and leaned in, many students wide-eyed and worried; no doubt, everyone was curious and terrified to hear any news of Voldemort since he had returned. The papers rarely talked of it. People viewed Voldemort's return as one might stare at severe wound: a strange kind of horrified fascination.

Hargreaves nodded as if pleased by this reaction. "In this class, there will be no sugar-coating. It is my job to give you the tools to survive. The walls of Hogwarts have you living in a fairytale. In this class, I will educate you in the Dark Lord's power, how His servants grow in number every hour, what arcane mysteries He has unraveled and what cruelties you will know if you defy Him."

A numbing silence had fallen over the room. Whose side is she on? Harry wondered. He had only known two people call Voldemort the Dark Lord, and both of them had been Death Eaters at one point. That doesn't mean she is a Death Eater herself. At least he didn't think it did…

Hargreaves swished her wand once again. Her name vanished from the board and was replaced moments later by, The Dark Arts, in large lettering. From it, several lines spidered out below. One of the lines led to the category, Unforgivable Curses. Another led to, Black Magic and to Conjuration as well as countless others he did not recognize. According to the diagram, there must have been at least forty subcategories of the Dark Arts.

After the chalk finished its task, it wandered over to the chalkboard lip and dropped with a click. That's when one line, in particular, stood out to Harry like a sore thumb, because it was blank, yet to be filled in.

"The Dark Arts is a very broad term," Hargreaves began again and pointed to the chalkboard. "Take a look. These are only a fraction of the known arts. The Unforgivable Curses are one of them. Yes, I was told you had a demonstration of them last year - one even performed on you. Was it not terrifying? To think that someone could take control of your body and mind? Or that you and those around you could be taken from this world by a spell that has no defense?"

The class gave a uniform shiver. Everyone looked just as terrified as Hargreaves suggested. The thought that a Death Eater had taught their class last year under the guise of an Auror was still fresh in everyone's minds. Harry most of all.

"But there is a sect of dark magic," Hargreaves added, and the chalk swam toward the chalkboard once more. "far fouler than any killing curse."

Hairs prickled on the back of Harry's neck, as the languid bit of chalk wrote the letter E, L, D, and R.

"While raiding the Dark Lord's estate fifteen years ago, we discovered two grimoires," she continued. The letter I and then T. "At first, they appeared to be blank, but upon painstaking caution and examination, failure and loss, we managed a title page. What we found was most disturbing." When the chalk had laid down to rest, and its words were written for all to see, several in the class gasped. Hermione loudest of all. "They claimed themselves to be the lost books of the Eldritch Arts."

Thankfully, when Harry looked about he found that there were those who seemed as confused as he was.

"What's so important about the Eldritch Arts?" Harry whispered to Hermione.

Hermione turned to him, looking paler than ever. "It's the darkest magic there is. It- it's blood magic." Her voice trembled.

"Some of you have heard of it, I see. Adequate. Then let me assure you that it is no mere folktale. I was on the team that analyzed them, and I can tell you that these books are no longer myths. We believe the two we found were part of a set of three: the Red Book, the Gold Book, and the Black Book. The Black Book was never recovered, but the Red and Gold books were kept at the ministry with the Unspeakables."

Dean raised his hand before asking, "Were kept. Does that mean they're no longer there?"

Hargreaves' stare found the window, where she seemed to be debating whether to answer that question. "They have stolen from the ministry almost a year ago today," she finally said.

"Who stole them?" Harry shifted, worried by what the answer might be. Then added, "professor."

"Interesting that you should ask such a question, Mr. Potter. Off of your testimony, the ministry concluded that it was Peter Pettigrew and Barty Crouch Jr."

In the electric silence that followed, Hargreaves ordered the class to turn the page. They all knew what that meant, though it pained Harry most to hear it. The ritual that was used to bring Voldemort back, had given him a body, and had taken a drop of Harry's blood to do so, had come from inside those books.

Hermione's hand shot into the air. Hargreaves sighed clearly wanting to continue on with the class, but ultimately nodded for Hermione to go ahead.

"Professor, if the grimoires really do exist and were stolen. And the ministry didn't tell anyone. Then why are you telling us now?" Hermione asked, more than a little disturbed at Hargreaves' revelation. "You must know that has to be highly classified."

Hargreaves smirked. "Beyond classified. The ministry will likely have my license for telling a class of fifth years. Perhaps worse." She gave a mirthless laugh. It was the first time Harry had seen Hargreaves display any form of humor. "But that hardly matters anymore. Living at Hogwarts grants one certain privileges. Full immunity being one of them," she said. "The world needs to know that the Dark Lord is once more in possession of the grimoires, even if that means that the ministry will be blamed." Hargreaves paused before adding, "Didn't I tell you all to turn the page."

Harry re-examined Hargreaves and found that his judgment of her was losing shape.. If what she said was true, then she was risking a fate in Azkaban by telling a bunch of fifth years. Why? Hargreaves did not strike him as a self-sacrificing sort.

An unpleasant thought dawned on Harry. When the news got out that the ministry had failed to safeguard the grimoires from the same Death Eaters that rose Voldemort from the dead, they would likely have a riot on their hands. What was Hargreaves playing at?

The crisp sound of turning pages filled the room and, noticing, Harry followed suit. The title on the next page was written in blood red ink, "Bloodtraits."

"Can anyone tell me what a bloodtrait is?" followed up Professor Hargreaves.

Harry glared at the word, trying to parse out what it could mean. Blood. Trait. He had never even heard of a bloodtrait before. However, by Hermione's lightening quick hand that shot itself into the air, he guessed she had already read the entire book over the summer holiday.

Harry found himself smirking at that.

"Yes…?"

"Hermione Granger, professor," Hermione introduced herself. "Bloodtraits are special magical abilities or skills passed down through a wizarding family."

"Adequate, Ms. Granger, very adequate," droned Hargreaves.

Judging by her closely knitted brow, Hermione wasn't sure what to make of the word, 'adequate.' Truthfully, neither did Harry. Lupin would have given Gryffindor ten points for that answer, not a half-baked compliment – if it could even be considered that.

"Several of the great houses in Britain possess one of these traits," Hargreaves informed them. "Over the millennia, many of these great houses married close relatives with similar or identical traits in an attempt to keep their blood pure and potent. This led to a few… unforeseeable problems. Other families, however, diversified, marrying into families with varying traits. This led to a special few being born with two bloodtraits, and those born with none at all. Now, can anyone give me an example of what one of these bloodtraits could be?"

"No?" said Hargreaves too fast for anyone to respond. "What about you, Mr. Potter? I believe you know of one, seeing as it's a trait you - quite publicly - possess."

Hermione looked from Hargreaves to Harry, clearly confused, before recognition flickered across her face. "Parseltongue," she whispered. "Of course."

Harry frowned down at his textbook. Parseltongue? It was Harry's understanding that the ability to speak to snakes came from some connection to Voldemort, not this bloodtrait stuff.

"Adequate. Parseltongue, a very old, very ancient bloodtrait found in the descendants of Salazar Slytherin. The trait allows Mr. Potter to converse with snakes. Some would call it a rather useless trait. Far more useless than Etymon, the ability that allows one to commune with all animals. Or Pyromancy or the ability to truly divine the future."

Hargreaves scoffed lightly to herself before walking up and down the middle aisle of desks, staring at each one of them in turn. For the first time, their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher didn't look as though it was a bother to be teaching them. On the contrary, her eyes gleamed with a kind of cool excitement.

"What I am about to say may disturb you greatly, but I assure it is necessary for you to know. If you know, you can prepare. And if you prepare, you might survive this war," she strode by Harry. "There is an Eldritch ritual known to the Dark Lord, one that is theorized to be the reason the Dark Lord's power grew several folds during his first rise. It was a ritual found in the Red Book and it allows the transference of a bloodtrait from one body to another, requiring the ritual-head to drink the blood of their victim, thereby gaining that bloodtrait as their own."

If the mood in the room had already been tense, it was nothing in comparison to how the room vibrated now. It was odd to see many of the Slytherin, sinking down into their chairs as if they hoped to disappear. Some looked pale or even green. It was a stark contrast from the Gryffindors who had stood up straighter as if in defiance to Voldemort's atrocities.

"So how do we defend against something like that?" Seamus spoke up, brow set.

"You will raise your hand in my class," said Hargreaves in passing, before she continued. "There is no defense against this magic. What you can do is be cunning and cautious and hide your traits. From everyone. War changes people, so you must keep it hidden even from your closest friends."

Seamus faltered. "What? That's not helpful at all," he groaned. "Isn't there an anti-curse or a way to reverse the ritual?"

"Ten points from Gryffindor," snapped Hargreaves with her back to him. "Talk to me in such a way again, Mr. Finnegan, and it will be detention."

"Sorry, professor," Seamus apologized and fell silent for the rest of the class.

"There is no such 'anti-curse' when faced with the Eldritch Arts, no charms or pendants of protection. Nor are there any ways to reverse the ritual once it's complete. Wherever the Dark Lord dredged up these books, the magic is ancient and unbreakable," she told them. "Though many families have completely forgotten they even have a bloodtrait in their family line, the Great Houses have not. They know to keep their traits secret, only shared with those within the family. For those who possess a trait, you need to do the same."

"How will we know if we have one?" asked Ron. As an afterthought, he raised his hand. "You know, if some families have forgotten they even have a trait in their bloodline?"

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Hargreaves said with a mounting frustration. "The next person to speak out of turn will deeply wish they hadn't."

Hargreaves glared at Ron with such intensity, he promptly hid his face behind his textbook.

"Does anyone know the answer to that question?" she inquired the class, turning to the next hand that crept its way into the air. "Yes, Ms. Gabor?"

Elena put down her hand. "The Gift fully develops just after puberty. Though, it is known to happen before."

"Adequate. This is how many find their trait without assistance, but that is something you cannot afford," said Hargreaves before returning to her desk. There, she wet her lips and leaned in to them. "As fifth years, you all are of the appropriate age. And so, in the following weeks, I will be pulling each one of you aside to test for any traits you may or may not possess."

The hairs on the back of Harry's prickled further. He didn't wait to raise his hand. "But if we aren't supposed to tell anyone then why should we tell you?" he stood planting his hands firmly on his desk.

There was a screeching of chair legs as every head turned to stare at him. They gaped. Even Ron and Hermione looked worriedly at him as if he had taken leave of his senses.

Hargreaves' penetrating stare captured Harry's and did not release him. "It's better to explore your trait in a controlled environment, Mr. Potter, as opposed to let's say, in the Great Hall for all to see - or during a public duel, perhaps. Best be aware of your traits before they come to light in a dim situation."

Harry reddened. How had she found out about his duel with Malfoy? Had she been asking around about traits or was that just another bit of Harry's life that had found its way into the tabloids without him knowing. Irritably, Hargreaves explanation made sense. Though as much sense as it made, Harry couldn't help but distrust Hargreaves.

She continued to glare at him as if waiting for Harry to wilt back into his chair. But Harry did not back down, nor did he hide his face.

Finally, Hargreaves relented and turned away from Harry. "Detention, Mr. Potter. This Tuesday, my office," she said. If Harry didn't know any better, he would have thought Hargreaves sounded reluctant to give him detention. "For the remainder of today's lesson, we will be writing an in-class essay on the subject of Bloodlines. Use two rolls of parchment."

The class groaned as they shuffled, pulling quills and rolls from their bags.

Fuming, Harry sat back down. Judging by the way several classmates shot him dark looks - most of them Slytherins - they believed the essay was his fault. And they did have a point. It seemed vindictiveness was one of many nasty traits Hargreaves possessed.

Defense Against the Dark Arts continued with an hour of grueling work and Harry's hand soon cramped from the strain of extensive writing. Eventually, Hargreaves told them to turn in their essays and Harry gathered his things to leave, frustrated at himself. Detention with Hargreaves… what could be worse?

"That was brilliant!" Ron caught up with Elena, who was booking it to the door. She seemed to have no intention of speaking to anyone. Yet, Ron, oblivious as ever, did not take notice. "The look on Malfoy's face…"

Ron's smile fell when Elena bushed past him without responding. She looked pale and her eyes, distant. If she was upset or angry or frustrated or all at once, Ron would never know, but for her gloved hands - which were shaking.

Ron sag as he watched her sweep past and out the door. It was no mystery as to why Elena might be upset. Malfoy needed to mind his own business. So what if Elena wasn't an English Wizard? Blood wasn't everything.

"Wonder if I have a trait," Seamus whisper to Dean just beside Harry. It was meant to be private, Harry knew, but he couldn't help hearing.

"You're joking, right?" laughed Dean loudly. "Your only blowing things up every day."

Seamus shot a look at Dean. Wheels were turning behind his blue eyes. Then, he punched Dean in the arm.

"Oy!" shouted Dean, rubbing the spot. "What'd you do that for?"

"Tell the whole school, why don't you," barked Seamus.

Seamus glanced about checking to see who might have heard and found Harry, who had only just noticed that he was staring.

"Oh, thank Merlin, it's you, Harry. Just don't tell anyone."

"Yeah, of course," Harry smiled to himself. It was good to know that Seamus trusted him.

Seamus breathed out a nervous sigh before turning back to Dean. "Any idea what you might be?"

Dean looked at him like he was stupid. "You heard her. I'm muggle born. Bloodtraits only run in wizard families." He lightly kicked at a protruding nail on the floor.

"Oh. Right."

Seamus and Dean continued out of the classroom and down the stairs.

Harry shuffled towards Ron and Hermione to where they were waiting for him at the top of the steps and wondered if they had any traits. Ron had never displayed any gifts really, except for maybe an uncanny knack for strategy – seeing patterns in things that others didn't - but that was hardly magical. And that was only if it manifested like Seamus'; he'd been blowing stuff up since their first year. So there was still the possibility that Ron would manifest a trait. Hermione of course was a muggle-born like Dean, so that ruled her out.

So then how did I get Parseltongue? Was it in Harry's blood or was it something else? Was this strange connection with Voldemort not just that they shared the twin wands, but that they were distantly related by blood?

He had gotten down to the bottom of the stair case when, in a moment of impulse, Harry spun round and bounded up the stairs. "I'll be right back," he called back to Hermione and Ron, intending to ask Hargreaves the question that burn at him.

"We'll wait for you?" Ron asked.

"No, I'll meet you down in the library."

Harry continued up until he reached the door, which was shut. Since as long as he could remember, the door had been enchanted to automatically shut after the last student had vacated the room.

But as Harry made to open the door, he halted. There were voices, muffled and hurried, coming through the wood. One was unmistakably Hargreaves. The other was… well, at first Harry thought it was another teacher, but when he pressed his ear to the door he found that the voice was of no teacher he recognized; it was crackled and rasping, seeming to belong to someone of unfathomable age - older than maybe even Dumbledore. Whatever it was they were saying, he got the feeling it was very important and very private.

Harry made to turn around, knowing that it was none of his business. But what if Hargreaves was doing something she wasn't supposed to? The thought rang in his mind, until it pounded against his skull. It urged him to press his ear against the door and listen further. Dumbledore needed him to look out for anything suspicious, after all.

With a measured breath, Harry gave in and listened intently.

It was Hargreaves who spoke. "We will try again tonight."

"We do not have much left, Mistress. And my power is not limitless. Might you consider speeding up the process of procuring another. The portal will not yield. I know of my limits." The insinuation was clear.

"I know your limitations as well, Malik," said Hargreaves. "But you do not know mine." Harry thought he heard Hargreaves sigh, but it was too faint to tell. "It will take weeks to test the students, maybe months. And even then, it is likely that not one will have the trait."

"The pond does not lie," he said resolutely.

"As you've said. But I cannot wait that long. We must continue. If we do not succeed tonight, we will try again tomorrow..." Hargreaves gave a short pause. "Scut!" It sounded like a curse, though Harry had never heard such a curse before. Then again, Merlin's Beard had been new to him once.

"What is it, Mistress?"

"The Potter boy's detention is tomorrow. Arrogant Boy."

Harry's checks went hot.

"If we fail tonight, maybe it is best to wait. Hold off until we find a child."

"No. If we fail, I will reschedule his detention."

"As you say, Mistress," conceded Malik.

Harry held his breath, pressing his ear so hard against the door that it throbbed while his mind raced. Testing? Was Hargreaves testing students so she could find a specific trait? For Voldemort? There was not a better way to peruse the wares, than in a class room full of trusting students. And what was this about a portal? Hermione and Ron needed to hear this.

As Harry made to push himself up to leave, the door suddenly swung open. Harry lost his balance. The world spun as he tumbled into the room, right into a set of navy blue robes.

Horrified, Harry stumbled back from Hargreaves, who dipped her beak-like nose to stare, shocked, at him.

"Mr. Potter…" she probed dangerously. "Did you forget something?"

In the space between his answer, Harry leaned to his right and peered around her shoulder to examine the classroom. It was utterly empty. There were no teachers or students or Dark Lords. The only thing that seemed out of place was that now there was a mirror next to Hargreaves' desk. Harry wouldn't have thought anything of it, if not for the fact that the mirror was floating some four feet off the ground and looking somewhat like the two-way mirror Sirius had given him, though significantly larger. It must have been how she was talking to that old man.

"I just wanted to ask you something, professor," said Harry, turning to glare up at her.

Hargreaves' eyes narrowed further onto him, her lip curling. Harry clench his fists in response, so that the two were locked in a tense exchange of body language.

"I am listening," she said with measured hostility.

"You said, Parseltongue was a bloodtrait. I just wanted to know how, pro-fes-sor." With every syllable, Harry reinforced the hatred he exuded. "You see, I can't be related to Salazar Slytherin. Neither of my parents could talk to snakes."

"You would be surprised who some of us are related to, Mr. Potter. There are some bloodtraits that skip several generations, and then there are those that populate entire family trees," Hargreaves said, her lip curling further with every word uttered. "But as I said, there are other ways to acquire traits."

"You're wrong," Harry shook his head, not willing to believe that he could really be related to the first Slytherin and to Voldemort.

"Believe what you will," Hargreaves brushed him aside. "You have kept me long enough. Good day, Mr. Potter,"

In a flurry of navy robes, Hargreaves was gone down the staircase.

It took Harry a moment to realize his fists were shaking; he knew there had been something off about Hargreaves. There was no doubt in his mind now. This new professor was a Death Eater, who planned to abduct a student with a special trait and open a portal to Voldemort within the castle. But she had not considered that Harry might have overheard. mind now. This new professor was a Death Eater.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will set the foundation for the rest of Harry's journey. It's a lot of explanation, I know. Hopefully not too much.


	6. Footsteps in the Night

After a quick search of the library stack, Harry found Hermione, nose deep in an absurdly large book, her hair tucked behind her ear. Beside her sat Ron, who was staring out a tall leaded window that looked over the Quidditch pitch and mumbling something Harry couldn’t hear. Judging from his longing eyes and the fact that Quidditch tryouts were just around the corner, Harry guessed that Ron was fantasizing about making the team.

There was an open book in Ron’s lap – a history tome from the looks of it - and, despite his day dreaming, he was making headway.

“Where is Elena?” asked Harry, breathing hard - seeing as he had run all the way to the library from Hargreaves. He rested his bag against the table and slid in beside Ron.

“Dunno, she just kind of vanished.” Ron screwed up his face. “She does that when she’s upset… I think.”

Hermione furiously flipped a page at that and cursed Malfoy’s under her breath. 

“I have something important to tell you,” said Harry eagerly.

Hermione looked up from her book. “What is it?” 

“It’s Professor Hargreaves,” Harry said, very low and very quiet. Then he looked around to see if anyone was listening in before saying, “I think she’s a Death Eater.”

As soon as he said it, Ron and Hermione exchanged worried looks. Then Ron grinned back as if hoping it were a joke. When Harry made no attempt to return the smile, Ron’s grin slipped.

“What do you mean?” he said with a glacial slowness.

“I overheard her meeting with some old man named Malik. I think he might be a Death Eater too. They were talking about testing the student-”

“You’re still on about that?” interrupted Ron. “We know she’s going to test us. You heard her. This way we’ll know what our traits are – if we have one.”

“I know what she said, but she’s not doing it to help us. She’s looking for one, Ron," Harry rushed. Then he hesitated before saying, "I think- I think it's one Voldemort needs." “I think- I think it’s one Voldemort needs.”

Ron winced at the name.

Hermione looked at him, her face a tangle of worry and confusion. "Did she ever say You Know Whose' Name?"”

“Well…” Harry tried to think back on the conversation he had overheard and found that she had never mention Voldemort by name. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. She said it herself, Voldemort was using that Eldritch ritual to steal bloodtraits when he rose to power the first time. That means he must have been scouring for powerful bloodtraits to take. Now he’s back. And our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher just happens to be searching for one herself.”

"So what you're saying is that's a bunch of guess work," Ron said. "Maybe it's possible you heard that all out of context?"

Harry ignored this and and sat a little straighter. "Hargreaves and Malik are going to try an open a portal. Tonight." The insinuation was clear. If Ron and Hermione wanted proof that was how they were going to get it.

“Honestly, Harry, you can’t open portals in Hogwarts. There are powerful magics that prevent such things.”

“You heard Dumbledore. Anyone wandering the ground at night will be expelled,” Ron’s eyes were nearly bulging from his head at this point too. 

“Since when do we care about rules,” Harry threw up his hands and stood to glare at them both.

“If you really think Hargreaves is working for Voldemort, let’s go to Dumbledore,” Hermione urged him, trying to get him to see reason.

Harry stomach twisted into a knot. If Harry couldn’t even convince his own friends, the Headmaster would be the last person to listen to him. Dumbledore was blinded by his trust for people, a trusted that had been misplaced too many times for Harry to have faith.

“You don’t believe me…” Harry finally said in disbelief. 

After everything the three of them had witness together and uncovered through the years at Hogwarts – Voldemort, Quirrell, The Chamber of Secrets - they still needed further convincing. Harry thought his word should be enough.

“It’s not that we don’t believe you, Harry,” said Hermione, “It’s just… well, with everything that happened last year, and Hargreaves coming in as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher… Let’s be honest, you haven’t always liked Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers.”

“What are you trying to say, Hermione?” said Harry trying to push down the churning in his belly.

“We just think that you might be looking for things… because of who she is taking over for.”

“Not every Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is evil or plotting something horrible. Lupin-” Ron started,

“Well I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Lupin was the only one who didn’t try to kill us. Quirrell, Lockhart, Mad Eye. There’s a pattern. You’d be real mental not to see it.”

"Trust us, Harry." Hermione reached out a hand to calm him. "If you really think Hargreaves is in league with You Know Who, then you need to tell Dumbledore.”

Harry recoiled from her hand. “I need you to trust me.”

Madam Pince appeared at the mouth of the stacks. Judging by the fire burning behind her eyes, she was not happy with them. “Keep it down, or I will have you out of my library,” she hissed.

Ron put up a hand as if it might ward off her rage. “Sorry," he apologized, "We will."

Harry reached for his bag and forced it over his shoulder. “It’s fine. I was leaving anyway,” Harry told Madam Pince, before rounding on his best friends. “And if you don’t want to believe me, I’ll prove it to you.”

“Harry, please,” Hermione called out to him, but Harry was already storming away and would not turn around for all the gold in Gringotts. Then again, Harry did not care much for gold.

\--------------------

It was nearly lights out and Harry lay on his bed, waiting nervously for his dormmates to fall asleep. He still hadn’t talked to Ron or Hermione since their row in the library earlier that day. Even when it was time for bed, Harry had stalk right past Ron and shut himself behind his bed hangings.

If there was one thing that four years at Hogwarts had taught him (besides magic of course), it was that when no one believed you, prove it to them. That was why he lay on his bed with the invisibility cloak folded atop his belly. It rose and fell with excited breaths, for tonight he was going to tail Professor Hargreaves.

He wished he didn’t have to go alone, but at least Ron and Hermione wouldn’t have to risk expulsion because Harry had a theory – a theory that he was beginning to doubt himself the more he pooled over the evidence, all of which was acquired by eavesdropping.

Harry sighed and looked up. Extended out above him in both hands was the mirror Sirius had given him. It reflected back Harry’s shaggy hair and the lightning scar that cut his forehead, still pale and pink and not entirely healed.

Sirius. His godfather’s name had been on his tongue for the better part of an hour. What advice would he give Harry? Would Sirius tell him to sit tight, play it safe and follow school rules by staying in Gryffindor tower? Or worse - he might be the third person today to tell Harry he was delusional. To think that he was having difficulty trusting what Sirius would say troubled him.

Harry rested the mirror atop the folded invisibility cloak on his belly, and murmured, "Sirius." He needed to know.

Sirius' face did not appear in the frame right away. Impatience getting the better of him, Harry made to put away the mirror until that familiar voice barked his name.

"Harry! Harry? Did you call?"

“Sirius!” Harry scrambled to put the mirror upright again.

“Oy, keep down, will you!” Seamus moaned loudly from his bed.

Harry whispered an apology before applying a basic muffle charm around his bed. Then he returned his attention back to the mirror, and back to Sirius. Although it was dim on Sirius' end, Harry could still make out his warm brown eyes, clean shaven jaw, and rebellious hair that seemed to mimic Harry's. Like Harry, Sirius was lying in his bed with his mirror resting on his lap.

“It’s good to hear your voice. Is there anything you need from your godfather? Another Firebolt, maybe?” Sirius laughed at his joke. That was until the invisibility cloak caught his eye and his mood shifted. “Are you going somewhere?” he asked knowingly.

“It’s our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher,” answered Harry, hoping that would explained everything.

“And you’re sneaking out of the tower to catch her, because you think she’s a Death Eater.” It was not a question.

Harry nodded.

“Does Dumbledore know you suspect her?”

"No. But I doubt he'd do anything if I don't have any proof. It would be Snape all over again," said Harry in exasperation. "Though, Snape was innocent." - Sirius grumbled something darkly at the mention of Snape. - "But Hargreaves isn't"

"Alright," Sirius nodded. "You have my old map, then?"

"Right here," Harry fished out the Marauder's Map from under his pillow and held it up for Sirius to see.

“I suppose I should tell you to be safe,” Sirius scratched his neck.

“You’re not going to stop me?”

“Harry, your instincts are sharper than mine, and I’m a part-time dog," Sirius grinned. “Just keep the invisibility cloak on and don’t take it off until you’re back in the Gryffindor tower. I can’t tell you how many times your father and I were caught prowling the grounds after dark because we took it off for one reason or another.”

Someone stirred beside Sirius.

“Sirius." It was Remus' voice. “Who are you talking to?”

“Oh, I’ve got to run, Harry,” Sirius blushed.

“Thanks. For everything, Sirius,” rushed Harry, trying to fit in every word before his godfather had to go.

At that, Sirius beamed at him before his face blurred, replaced by Harry’s own reflection.

Drawing back the bed curtain, Harry swung the invisibility cloak over himself before creeping into the common room. He would not make the same mistake as last night. Good thing too because there, tapping her fingers on a couch cushion, was Elena.

Perhaps if he could just silently tiptoe past her… 

One of the floorboards groaned as he stepped towards the portrait hole. Harry ignored it and took another step which also creaked, the crimson rug doing little to stifle the noise. Giving up on creeping, Harry rushed to the portrait, creaking what seemed like every bloody board as he went.

“Last time you veren’t in such a hurry,” Elena said lightly from the couch.

Harry stiffened and pivoted to look at her.

“Uh, I’m-” Harry scrambled for an excused. “meeting someone.” 

She cocked an eyebrow. “Et 10:30 at night. That vould be breaking school rules, no?”

You don’t have time for this, Harry thought, beginning to panic. If Hargreaves was trying to open a portal out of Hogwarts, he needed to be there to catch her. Yet Harry forced himself to turn back to Elena. He couldn’t just leave… Elena knew he was sneaking out, and he still didn’t know if she would go running to McGonagall.

Harry glanced longingly at the portrait hole. “Look, I really need to go.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want to play one more round?”

Harry frowned at her, but soon understood what exactly she was asking.

“I don’t have time for a game,” Harry said a little more agitated.

“I think you do have time. This is the second time you vill be walking the grounds et night. You could be expelled for this, no? Vere those not the Headmasters vords?”

Harry narrowed his eyes at her. Was she threatening him? 

“You promised not to tell.”

“That vas then. Now is a very different time.” Elena got comfortable on the couch, not taking her eyes off him.

“Fine. I’ll start,” Harry growled at her, his frustration getting the better of him. “Why are you really here at Hogwarts?”

“I do not know vat you mean,” When Harry didn’t clarify, she gave him a cheeky grin. “You don’t believe I came here to be vith Ron?”

“I don’t. I think you like him, but I know that’s not why you’re really here. So what is it? Ron made it sound like you had to leave Romania. Were you kicked out?” Elena’s expression grew darker as he went on.  
“That is a second question, no?” she said, turning to stare into the fire.

“This one has two parts,” Harry threw her words back at her.

Elena acknowledge it with a smirk, though there was little humor in it. “I vas commanded to leave by the caravan. Vas I kicked out? Some may see it that vay. I came to Hogwarts for the same reason so many have come in the past - for protection.”

“Protection from what?” Harry had a faint urge to step closer to her but found that he quickly lost the will to do so, only vaguely noticed that his feet had not moved a fraction since the first question had been asked.

“It is my turn,” she took back the reins of the game. Then she turned from the fire and gave Harry a hard, piercing look. “Why did you let Peter Pettigrew live? You could have killed him, could have kept him from returning to the Dark Creature, from stealing the grimoire - you could have stopped the Creature from rising again.”

The breath caught in Harry’s throat and he felt the blood drain from his face.

She knows that you let Wormtail go.

“How?” croaked Harry. Dumbledore had promised Harry no one would know of the events that took place in the Shrieking Shack his third year, except for those seven who had been there.

Elena did not answer.

“I couldn’t-“ Harry tried to swallow down a lump that had formed in his throat. “I couldn’t see my friends kill someone. Not like that,” admitted Harry, feeling a hotness in his eyes. “If you had been there-“ He broke off, not sure how to finish. Would Elena have made the same choice he had? Would she have let her godfather and her friend kill a traitor in cold blood? 

“Could you have?” Harry asked his question. It was almost pleading, and, in that moment, he had a vision of Elena in the Shrieking Shack walking in his shoes that night. She watched Sirius – so consumed by revenge – point his wand at Peter with the killing curse on his tongue. There was a strange relief in that image as if it had not been him who had made the choice, but another’s. As if the burden had been lifted from his shoulders, even if it was for a fleeting time.

Elena sucked in a deep breath, intent on giving him a piece of her mind. But when she breathed it out again, her anger went with it. “It is difficult to know, Harry Potter. In your position, maybe not.” She grimaced. “I blamed you when I first came here. Funny, no? But it is difficult to blame somevone who already blames themselves.”

Harry smiled, though it was not out of happiness, but out of recognition. “It’s my turn to ask.”

Elena nodded. “So ask.”

There was a strange sort of calming silence that settled between them, in the time it took Harry to form his question.

“Is it Voldemort? Is that what Hogwarts is protecting you from?” Harry asked.

“No,” she said much too quickly and she turned back to the fire as if she did not want to think about it any longer.

There was a rush of wind that came from nowhere in particular and tickled the back of Harry’s neck. It swept past Crookshanks, who stirred at Elena’s feet. Harry hadn’t even noticed the cat. It seemed that Crookshanks liked Elena more than he did Hermione. It was a strange thing to be sure since only Sirius had been on such good terms with Crookshanks and he was an animagus.

Harry opened his mouth, wanting so badly to ask yet another question, but he knew that the game was over. One of them had told a lie. Besides, he had a ‘meeting’ with Hargreaves.

Before Harry escaped through the hole, he turned back to Elena, his brow set. “We are going to win,” he said, echoing his godfather’s words. “We have to.”

Although he may not have believed his own world, he knew they were important to say. 

He didn’t wait for her to respond. There was no need to.

Leaving her behind, Harry slid through the portrait hole. The crackling of the fire died away, replace by the shifting of the staircases. There on the other side, he pulled out the map. But he didn’t unfold it. Not right away. Instead he rested against the wall, thinking of his game with Elena. He still wasn’t sure what to make of her. She was reserved, distant, unpredictable, often rude, and even though she was all these, Harry had learned something - he could trust her.

Hargreaves. The professor came back to him and Harry tapped his wand to the marauders map. “I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” he whispered.

The parchment came alive. Blotches of ink formed lines that then took the shape of corridors. Harry unfolded and re-folded the map, until it showed the Defense Against the Dark Arts office. Two black footprints paced the small chamber with the name Annalie Hargreaves trailing behind them.

Harry folded up the map and took off. He crept down the stairs, passed paintings and stone gargoyles, dodged the trick step and crossed the suspension bridge. There he climbed the staircase that let to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. 

As he neared the door, hand reaching out to the latch, it burst open. Hargreaves stood in the frame, eyes alight, looking nearly as anxious as Harry felt. The next moment, she was swooping down the stairs toward him.

In jolt of desperation, Harry threw himself to the side and hugged the wall, barely daring to breathe.

When she was out of hearing range, Harry peeled himself off the wall and let go a ragged breath before following in her wake. 

When he reached the bottom of the steps, he found Hargreaves just a dot in the distance. She had made short work through the adjacent corridor and was now turning to fly back across the suspension bridge. Harry struggled to keep up without running, which would surely be heard in the near deafening silence.

Finally Professor Hargreaves halted at a simple door in the basement of the clocktower. There she glanced around to see if anyone was watching, before slipping through it. She had not seen Harry watching in the distance, shrouded by his cloak.

He came to the door with his heart beating in his chest. He half expected her to discover him just on the sound of its pounding alone. 

Beyond this door is all the proof you need, Harry told himself. Then, applying a hearing sensitivity charm on himself, he pressed his ear to the door and waited.

Nothing happened. 

Even after several minutes, no one talked or even rustled their cloaks on the other side and Harry would have known; his ears were heightened to that of a dog’s. The thought that Hargreaves might have escaped somehow, itched at him.

When his restlessness got the better of him, he tugged out the map, hands shaky from the adrenaline that still surged through him. 

He let out a curse when he folded the map to the clocktower corridor and found that it was… EMPTY. 

Harry’s stomach lurched. Not waiting a moment more, he fumbled with the latch and opened the door.

The weight of disappointment crushed down upon him. The room was indeed empty. There was no Hargreaves. No Malik. No portal. There was just a ragged old mirror on the far side. 

How could she have escaped him? He had the map. 

Harry looked about for any explanation and came upon an open window on the far wall, leaking a chilly breeze into the room. With nothing else to go off, he rushed to the window, grabbed the ledge and stuck his head out. There was a clear view to the Owlery.

Harry retreated back and consulted the map again. If she isn’t in here, then she must be somewhere in Hogwarts. Unless…

He flipped to the courtyard. It was empty. Then to the Hospital Wing. It was empty. He even checked the Owlery. Every room Harry scoured came up blank, completely devoid of Annalie Hargreaves footprints. It must have been twenty minutes before Harry had searched every room, corridor, and lawn in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry yet still there was no Annalie Hargreaves. And the map never lies.

If Annalie Hargreaves was no longer in Hogwarts, then it only stood to reason that either Hargreaves knew how to shield herself from the map’s magic, and only now just cast the spell, or she had succeeded in creating the portal and really was no longer at Hogwarts but somewhere far away. But how? Would a portal just disappear like that? There was nothing of note in the room. Though to be frank, Harry didn’t know the slightest thing about portals and how they worked. 

With all his hopes of finding proof that Hargreaves was a Death Eater quickly evaporating, Harry left the small room and slumped against the castle wall. He stayed there for a while, watching the map closely and hoping that maybe, just maybe, Hargreaves would reappear somewhere on the grounds. It wasn’t until he heard a light patter, that could have been Mrs. Norris, that he gave in and returned to the dormitory and to bed.


	7. The Shape of Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to my betas, Kyle and Arawnazoth.

Harry sat in the Great Hall, sleep deprived and feeling altogether wretched. He had forgotten to take the Dreamless Sleep Potion last night in the wake of his crushing disappointment. And so the night terrors had come again, wretched and unforgiving. Dean, Seamus, and Ron had to shake him awake to keep him from destroying the dorm room. Lamps had been shattered, bedhanging’s torn, and Seamus’ mattress had somehow found its way into the common room. Even then, he and Ron did not speak, except when Ron asked if Harry needed anything. To which, Harry respond with a flat, “No,” before taking a drop of potion to send him off for the few remaining hours of the night.

Harry winced. There were several topics that he wanted to ignore at the moment. That was one of them. It was why he sat at the Gryffindor table doing the one thing besides Quidditch that kept his mind off such things - grooming his firebolt. For all the polish he had rubbed in just that morning, he could see his reflection in the shaft. This quasi-meditative task would have been more relaxing if Draco hadn’t been in the Great Hall with him.

"Practicing for your boyfriend, Potters" Draco snickered from the Slytherin table. The cloud of misery that had hung over Draco since the start of the school year seemed to have lifted somewhat. Beside him sat Pansy and Crabbe, who chortled.

With a Herculean display of willpower, Harry ignored him and dipped his polish stained rag back into the small bottle, only to find that it was empty. 

Harry dropped his elbows to the table and ran a polish stained hand through his already messy hair, causing it to stick out and even odder angles. He would need to get a new bottle in Hogsmeade. Unfortunately, with the polish gone, there was nothing to keep his mind off of his fight with Hermione and Ron. Not to mention his impending detention with Professor Annalie Hargreaves. It was a fate he was not looking forward to, seeing as he would be spending time alone with a woman who was surely a Death Eater.

As he sulked over his Firebolt, Hermione entered the Great Hall. She paused, took one look at Harry, clutched the book she was holding tighter to her breast and strode up to him.

“How are you feeling?” she asked stiffly.

“Great,” lied Harry. He was aware he looked quite the opposite.

“Good.”

Silence followed, so thick it could have been cut by a knife. Both waited for the other to say something - something along the lines of an apology. But seeing as Harry couldn’t bear the thought of being angry at his best friend for any longer – not after his spat with Ron last year that had lasted several weeks and would go down as the worst time in his life – he decided to cut the silence with four needed words.  
“Look, I’m sorry, Hermione,” he said.

Hermione gave a quiet huff before choosing the seat next to him. “Don’t assume the worst of me again, okay?” she said.

Harry hesitated. Did Ron and Hermione want the best for him? Well of course they do, Harry thought, feeling a burning sense of shame for thinking any different. But if he knew that, then why didn’t he say so. Was he really that stubborn? No it was more than that. Until now, Harry had thought that this pain, this lingering mistrust of everyone around him would fade. But it hadn’t. An anxious feeling settled in his stomach as he realized that some scars may never heal.

Harry looked down at his Firebolt. “You need to trust me."

“You can’t expect people to trust you if you don’t trust them yourself,” said Hermione smartly, before reaching for a bowl of porridge. Judging by the way she pursed her lips, she was still upset at him, but she was willing to accept his apology and change the subject. “Did you find anything?”

“What do you mean?” asked Harry, cupping his cider with both hands.

“Do you honestly expect me to believe that you didn’t end up sneaking around the grounds last night?” said Hermione.

Oh. Right. Harry sighed into his mug. The steam rose and fogged his glasses. He must have looked ridiculous, because the next moment Hermione snorted into her porridge. Then, seeming to remember that she was still agitated at Harry, she quickly regained a sobering expression.

Harry pulled his robe over his thumb and wiped the steam from his lenses. He didn't particularly feel like smiling. “I followed her last night, but it was waste. I lost her under the clock tower. Actually, it’s more like she just vanished,” he grumbled.

“You saw her vanish?” she perked up and her frustration with Harry really did seem to fade.

“Well, no, I didn’t see her vanish. She went into a room and when I followed her in, she was gone. She wasn’t even on the map, Hermione,” Harry emphasized.

“No You Know Who then?” Hermione smirked savagely.

Harry rolled his eyes to the enchanted ceiling. “Hermione,” pleaded Harry. “I could not be more serious. She wasn’t on the map. The map doesn’t lie, Remus said so himself. So how can you explain that?”

That had reached Hermione. 

“It must be that she opened the portal last night to somewhere outside of Hogwarts,” finished Harry.

Hermione’s expression hardened once more as she pondered that. “What was in the room? The room under the clocktower?” she finally asked.

“That’s just it - nothing. There was no fireplace to use the Floo network, just an open window and a dusty old mirror. And I doubt she could have fit through that window… unless she’s an animagus. You don’t think she’s an animagus, do you? No, but Petigrew showed up on the map when he was a rat.”

At that, Hermione rolled her eyes to the enchanted ceiling. “Well that’s obvious, isn’t it?” Hermione paused as if hoping Harry would have come to the same conclusion as her. But he didn’t. “She’s a speculomancer,” said Hermione as if that explained everything.

“A what?”

Hermione rolled her eyes even more dramatically. 

“Honestly! Professor Hargreaves is a speculomancer. A mirror mage?” stressed Hermione. “She is probably using that mirror to travel around Hogwarts.”

Of course! Harry kicked himself. How could he have been so stupid! Hermione had told him before the start of the year about speculomancers, that they could create magic mirrors to travel through. Hargreaves must have used that mirror to…

“The mirror!” Harry blurted. “That must be the portal. She was trying to link that mirror to Voldemort!”

Hermione did not share Harry’s excitement. “Hogwarts mirrors are only linked to others within the grounds and are only to be used by teachers for quick travel,” she said, trying to curb Harry’s enthusiasm. “And every one of those mirrors has a powerful ward to keep them from being tampered with.”

“But what if she can break those wards, Hermione. She is a speculomancer after all,” rushed Harry, a thrill surging through him. Pieces that had once seemed fragmented were finally fitting together. “Maybe that’s how she’ll deliver the students to Voldemort.” Harry looked down and spoke more to himself. “She already created the portal. That’s why she didn’t show up on the map. Now all she needs is a student with the right bloodtrait.”

“Even if you’re right,” said Hermione, though she still sounded doubtful, “Dumbledore wouldn’t allow that.”

“Dumbledore might not know,” said Harry.

“Dumbledore might not know what?” said an icy cold voice from just behind them. 

Hermione yipped and the two of them spun round going the same shade of white. Then a chill ran up Harry’s arm, as if that voice alone had sucked the heat from his body. 

Standing over them was Hargreaves, her jaw set and her lips as thin as could be. Great and birdlike, she hovered, glaring imperiously at them from down her sharp nose.

“Nothing, Professor,” said Harry.

Hargreaves raised a very thin eyebrow as if she doubted that. “There is little that the Headmaster does not know within these grounds. I assure you,” she said.

“Yes, Professor,” Hermione agreed quickly.

Hargreaves’ searching gaze lingered on Hermione before finding Harry. “Mr. Potter, it is lucky that I should find you here. Testing begins today. And who should be first but the Boy Who Knows. Come with me, you will be joining me in the dungeons.”

Harry and Hermione shared a look of the utmost shock.

“What? Now?” spluttered Harry. It’s happening.

“But- but Professor, Harry has Care for Magical Creatures today,” started Hermione.

Even if Hermione didn’t fully believe him about Hargreaves, it appeared that she still did not want Harry to go to the dungeons with her… alone and unprotected.

“I have already alerted faculty that select student will be absent from their classes,” she gave an annoyed sigh and Harry noticed the great bags under the professor’s eyes. 

Long night, Professor? Harry thought

Hermione stood. “But Professor, it’s very important that Harry attend-”

Harry shot her a look that was meant to comfort her, but he could not keep the worry from twisting his brow.

“I’ll be fine, Hermione. I’ve only got one bloodtrait, and everyone already knows what it is,” he whispered so Hargreaves couldn’t hear.

Hargreaves gave a cynical grin. “No need to be jealous, Ms. Granger, I will have him back within the hour, you can be sure.” – Hermione’s eyes went like a deer in headlights, blotches of color forming on her cheeks - “Come, Mr. Potter.”

Harry looked back at Hermione as he was led out and down into the Dungeons. He remembered the route. His second year he had taken a similar one to the Slytherin common room. It was dank and moist in this part of the castle. Utterly unpleasant. Just like the house that inhabited it.

It wasn’t long until Hargreaves paused at an unsuspecting wall, cracked and worn and moss ridden. Yet Hargreaves seemed to be looking for something. Once she found it, she drew a withered key from inside her robes and pressed it into a small fissure in the mortar. She turned it.

With a click the wall began to rumble. Stone slid against stone as it deconstructed and then rebuilt itself into an open archway.

Beyond it was a crushing darkness that only the dungeons could provide. Except, something was gleaming faintly from within, catching more light than the faint glow of the torches produced.

Hargreaves swept past him and, as she entered, the room brightened a brilliant blue. From where Harry stood, it looked like a vault at Gringotts except with a few upgrades. Metal workings encrusted the ceilings and walls, securing any weak points. Projected along the walls was a kind of translucent barrier that enclosed the space and was the source of the blue light. Wherever they were, it was obvious that someone had gone too great lengths to secure it.

“Here, Mr. Potter,” Hargreaves called over to him. Did she always sound like she was angry or was it just that she truly hated him? Then again, Death Eaters weren’t known to be cheery.

Hargreaves stood at the center of the room where a bronze cylinder protruded from the ground. It would have risen to Harry’s chest had he been standing next to it, but as it were, he was lingering along the back wall of the room, aware of the wand in his pocket. If Hargreaves planned to curse him, she would surely do it here. It checked every box. It was secluded; the floor was just one slab of stone, so there was an easy clean up; And whatever those contraptions were on the corner of every wall, their mechanical rumblings would surely drown out any noises that Harry was likely to make. 

"Now," demanded Hargreaves, and Harry obeyed, albeit, reluctantly, and approached the object.

He couldn't shake the feeling that this object, the way it gleamed, was familiar. The radiance of it.

“Professor…that’s not goblin made is it?” asked Harry.

“Adequate,” nodded Hargreaves, giving Harry an appraising eye. “2nd Century ,goblin bronze-work.”

Harry reached out a curious hand toward it. “…and what does it do exactly?” he said, nervously.

Hargreaves caught his hand. “This is not a child’s field trip, Mr. Potter.”

Harry tugged his hand away from her grip and glared up at her for all the good it did. Hargreaves ignored him and began murmuring incantations above the upper dome that enclosed the object. All at once, it came alive. Steam billowed out of vents that, up until that point, Harry didn't know it had, and the top dome split to reveal a stone unlike any Harry had ever seen. It was suspended there, a stone of marbled reds and black trapped in glass.

Harry eyed at it with equal parts caution and curiosity. “Professor, what exactly is that?” he said worriedly.

“This, Mr. Potter, is going to tell me if you are hiding another bloodtrait. Though with a muggle born mother, I suppose I should be surprised you have one at all. Two would be nothing short of a miracle from someone like you,” growled Hargreaves.

Harry flushed and stepped up to the orb, feeling an overwhelming irritation. He wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. There was torture and then there was being in the same room as Hargreaves, both of which Harry had experienced and to be honest he wasn’t entirely sure which one he preferred. Sure, the cruciatus curse caused unbelievable agony, but breathing the same air as a Death Eater was torture in a different sense.

“Fine. Let’s get this over with then,” said Harry.

Harry didn’t look up but he could feel her glare on the back of his head. 

“You’re finger,” she ordered.

"Why do you need my finger," Harry narrowed his eyes.

Hargreaves eye twitched. "It needs your blood.">

"It needs my what?" Harry said shrinking back. That just seemed wrong.

"Mr. Potter, I do not have time for this," she said, holding out her hand to take Harry's. "Your finger. Now." Nervously, Harry extended a finger towards her. Wasting no time, she took it, produced a small bone needle and pricked the pad of Harry's finger. Blood pooled on the surface of his skin, as Hargreaves moved his hand to rest just over the stone. Or was it a marble?>

Drip.

A drop of his blood splashed onto the orb, and with it the stone shuddered. Upon the second drop…it began to morph. Losing its shape, it became raw and untamed fire that nearly seared off Harry's eyebrows. Just a second later and the heat was sucked from the room and their breath froze upon the air. The stone had dispersed into a heavy mist that cut to the bone. Then it vanished, and all became blackness. All sound and light muted until a hiss sounded from the darkness.

“Brother,” it called out before it was swallowed by an explosion that nearly blew Harry and Hargreaves back. 

The stone rapidly morphed countless times not stopping until Hargreaves shouted. “Finite!” 

All was still, like the calm after the storm, and the stone orb returned to its marble form, floating languidly in front of them.

Confounded, Harry looked up at Professor Hargreaves and meant to ask her what all that meant. He decided against it. For what Harry found was Hargreaves’ bewildered eyes. Apparently, she was as surprised at the stones display as he was. 

"No," she whispered, then spun on Harry, "Your other hand," she said. After Harry hesitated, Hargreaves added, "Now, Mr. Potter."

Aggressively, she pricked his finger so it was far more painful than the first time. She held out Harry's finger and let it drop onto the stone for the second time.

After two drops fell, Harry retreated back not wanting to be in range of another explosion.

It was chaos once again. The stone erupted with life, except this time it did not start with fire, but vibrated like a struck bell at its resonation point. Louder and louder it rang, threatening to split Harry’s ear drums. He had to cup his ears to keep from passing out. 

As quickly as it had come, the sound died as if it had never been and the stone began to pulse with a brilliant golden glow. Brighter and brighter it shone until there was no shine left and it became the color of lead, burnt out by its own magnificence.

“Finite,” Hargreaves said, her wand drawn, point at the orb...and shaking

She whispered an incantation and the dome slid over the orb. She then pivoted sharply and strode from the room. Her robes seem to billow out behind her like great navy wings, flapping angrily at the dank dungeon air.

By the way she hesitated at the arch, Harry knew he wasn’t welcome to stay in their unattended. Harry was a bit shocked. Not because of the stone’s mental reactions, but because Hargreaves hadn’t once tried to curse him. But then again, why would she want to curse someone who might have a blood trait that her master wanted. Though she did say that Harry likely had no secondary trait and therefore was useless to her. Well maybe she didn’t say that last part word for word.

When they both stood outside, Hargreaves resealed the room, and locked it. 

From there, Hargreaves began the journey back out of the dungeons. Harry followed beside her, struggling to keep up with her long stride, feeling a bit awkward and confused. If Hargreaves wasn’t going to curse him, then wasn’t she supposed to at least tell him what had just happened?

Finally, when they ascended out of the dungeons, Harry confronted her. “What just happened Professor?”

Immediately Hargreaves was livid. “What just happened is that the Gilden is broken, and probably has been for the last thousand years of disuse,” she said with mounting frustration. Then, as if catching herself, she breathed out a seething sigh and tightened her mouth. Yet she could not completely hide the fury behind those bird-like eyes. 

“Broken? But it’s goblin-made,” Harry said, baffled. Goblin-made meant that it was flawless and virtually indestructible, didn’t it?

“Testing will be postponed for now. Run along to your class," she finished


	8. Apologies and Polywargs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to my beta ArawnAzoth!

Harry joined Hermione for Care for Magical Creatures at the edge of the Forbidden Forest with the rest of the Gryffindors, who all had most likely been required to take the class for a unit requirement. Harry, had a hard time believing any of them, including the Hufflepuffs, really wanted to be there. After all, Hagrid’s class was by far the biggest contribution to Madam Pomfrey's extensive patient list.

As soon as Harry arrived, Hermione shot him a look. Judging by her expectantly raised eyebrows, she was curious to hear what had happened with Hargreaves.

Later, Harry mouthed. Thankfully, Hargreaves wouldn’t be testing anymore students until the Gilden was up and running again. There was a relief in that.

Turning, Harry noticed Ron and Elena among the clump of students, their fingers tightly interlaced. Ron gave Harry a sort of awkward smile, which quickly turned into a grimace as he caught sight of the giant crate beside Hagrid. It was nearly the span of Hagrid’s hut yet only a quarter in height, and several somethings were wetly bleating around on the other side. 

“Gather ‘round. I’ve got a treat fer yer this year,” Hagrid beamed at the class. “Come on, don’t be afraid ter get close. Ther ‘armless things.”

Hagrid’s nudgings were futile. In fact, many of the students took a step back. Ron even gulped audibly as if he were staring down a hoard of spiders. Elena, on the other hand, looked rather interested at the crate. Little did she know that Hagrid’s idea of a harmless animal was a beast with exploding arses. Why Hagrid continually thought it was safe to give dangerous creatures to a class of underage witches and wizards to take care of, he would never know. Objectively, it wasn’t.

Finally, once the last of the class had arrived, Hagrid clapped his hands to gather everyone’s attention and start the lesson. In the wake of this sudden noise, whatever was in that crate thudded, slapped and banged against the wood. “Right then. Who ‘ere ‘as ‘eard of a polywarg?”

The gales that swept over them grew deafening at Hagrid’s hut, or perhaps the wind was just painfully apparent because the class had gone pale and silent. Everyone was clearly terrified. Harry noticed that some were already breaking out into a sweat and looking for potential cover among the nearby trees. Polywargs, like everything in this class, were probably some horrible abominations of nature that were only barely stitched together by magic.

“No? Alright,” said Hagrid, rubbing his great, pan-sized hands together. He then knelt and reached his entire arm into the crate. There were harrowing squeals from within. 

Harry and several of the other students, including Ron and Hermione, involuntarily took another step back. 

Contrary to all reason, Elena took a step toward the crate.  
The class recoiled further as Hagrid pulled out a slimy thing that looked remarkably like an adolescent tadpole that had gotten stuck halfway through an engorgio spell. Razor sharp teeth the size of butter knives clicked as it chomped on the air around it. Webbed feet swiped at everything and anything it’s milky eyes saw. Or didn’t see. Harry wasn’t sure if the thing was blind or not.

He fidgeted with his hands, trying to hold onto the memory of having all ten fingers present.  
“Polywargs are one of the rarest creatures in all of England and Scandinavia, mostly breeding in groves and the like where they ‘atch. And Samuel ‘ere-” - Hagrid pet the thing and it snapped at his finger - “Eh, now you stop that,” he wagged at Samuel.

Much of the class stared at Hagrid as if he had gone mad. The rest looked resigned, moaning or grumbling darkly to themselves about missing flobberworms.

“The polywargs I’ve collected are currently going through ther prepubescent months. Great time. I dunno if ther’s a better time ter care fer a polywarg. So who wants to pick thers first from the litter? Mind yer, the one yer choose is the one yer’ll be stuck with. Once a polywarg imprints, it can be damn territorial.”

“Imprint on what?” asked Seamus nervously.

“Well, imprint on its mother of course. If yer all are going to care fer them, ther going ter see yer as ther parents, won’t they? Maybe after yer done looking after em, they might look after yer - they can become lifelong guardians, polywargs.”

There was a painfully awkward silence that followed, broken by Harry.

“Hagrid,” he said as if walking on eggshells, “we aren’t keeping these creatures for life, are we?”

Hagrid rubbed at his neck. “Well, yer don’t have ter, no. But they’ll be pretty upset about it - no doubt about thet,” he said. “Right then. Come on, whose first. We’ll all go one by one.”

It was Elena who stepped up to the crate first. 

“Wonderful!” boomed Hagrid, “Yer can have yer pick of the litter! Watch out fer yer fingers though, in this stage ther known ter nip at just about anything.”  
Elena peered passed the lip of the crate. It erupted into yips and growls from within. Elena did not shy away but tugged off one of her silken gloves and lowered her hand into the crate. The next thing Harry knew she was pulling out one of those slimy beasts. She put the thing right up to her nose, and… it licked her cheek.

Instead of recoiling in disgust as any reasonable person would have, Elena beamed down at the thing as if it were a small and harmless puppy.

“She’s adorable,” said Elena softly, looking into the polywarg's milky eyes, which were the size of golf balls. How Elena knew the polywarg was a female, Harry didn’t know. They all looked the same: slimy.  
In a sickeningly tender moment, Elena actually tightened her arms around the beast and brought it into a hug as if it were a lovable kitten. And like a kitten, Harry swore he could hear the creature purring as it nuzzled the nook of her arm with its dripping snout.

“That’s how it’s done!” Hagrid praised Elena before addressing the class in whole. “Come on, single file line. Once yer got em, yer’ll need ter give em a name. Helps strengthen the imprint.”

The Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors formed a lackluster line, frayed and staggered at the edges. No one seemed to want to get close, fighting to be at the end of the line and hoping that Hagrid might run out of polywargs by the time it got to them. 

When it was Harry’s turn, he leaned over the crate to choose his, and his stomach lurched. It was a cesspool of slime with the giant tadpole-like-polywargs paddling around in their own ooze. Dismayed that there were still some left and urged on by his duty to Hagrid, Harry steeled himself and extended a cautious hand.

An eager yet comparatively small polywarg, whose tongue wagged and flopped out of the side of its mouth as it swam, paddled up towards Harry. It must have been the runt of the litter by its rounded and quite harmless looking teeth and overall clumsy nature - it splashed through the slime pool as though it were barely able to stay afloat. 

Thinking that the most harmless polywarg was the right fit for him, Harry let it sniff his open palm. After the two got acquainted, Harry scooped up his Polywarg and nearly gagged at the smell. 

“Hagrid, what exactly do they look like after their metamorphosis?” asked Hermione, who kept hers at arm’s length.

“Great question, Hermione,” said Hagrid excitedly. “See, thet’s the beauty of polywargs - yer don’t quite know.”

“What do you mean?” asked Seamus, who was repeatedly sticking his finger in his polywarg’s mouth and retreating it before it bit down.

“After all's said and done, they can take the form of any animal - magical or not. Each polywarg in this litter ‘ere could grow up ter be a completely different species. Maybe a deer. Could even become a unicorn, though I don’t know if thet’s ever been recorded. After molting, ther’s only one way ter identify a polywarg - their undying Loyalty. That is if yer good and fair ter em.”

“You said we can keep them, how would ve? Can ve keep them in our dorm rooms?” Of course, it was Elena who asked Hagrid that question. She seemed all too eager to take care of her polywarg.

“Err, no, tried thet once. I dunno if I want ter do thet again.” Hagrid paused. “Probably shouldn’t have said thet…Anyway, er, Dumbledore has allowed me ter open up a new Care fer Magical Creatures lodge. Big plans fer thet. Be able ter ‘old ‘bout a ‘undred boarded creatures. It’ll be just over ther in fact.” He pointed a little ways down the edge of the Forbidden Forest to a patch of green grass. “Be built in the next six months, I was told. Just in time for the polywarg’s metamorphosis. Yer welcome to keep them ther. For yer next few years at Hogwarts, thet is.”

“Vonderful,” Elena replied, smiling down at her polywarg. “…Lolla” 

Harry frowned over at Elena. It seemed she had found a name. She really was a strange witch, or Romaji. Every animal that came in contact with her seemed to love her, and vice versa. She really had a way with them…even the hideous ones. It reminded him of Hagrid in a way. Yet why either of them would want to take one of these slimy things home with them was beyond him.

After everyone received their polywargs, the class broke up to care for them individually. Harry was at a bit of a loss as to how to care for his polywarg. And looking around, he was not alone. Seamus’ was even feeding his polywargs bits of grass, despite the worms that Hagrid had set beside the crate. Thinking that this must be what they were to feed them, Harry grabbed a juicy handful and began stuffing them into his polywargs gob. 

It swallowed it eagerly and immediately started puking on the grass like a newborn baby. Alarmed that he might be harming the creature, Harry looked around for some instruction and saw that Elena’s polywarg was also serially puking everywhere. Phew, Harry thought, at least I’m not killing it. He mimicked Elena and wiped at the polywargs dripping mouth. Then he rubbed its belly in a clockwise motion, and somehow it stopped puking. That’s when Harry realized it was a he.

He continued to rub his belly, and the polywarg calmed into such a state that it began to purr softly. 

Harry had to admit, it was actually kind of adorable… putrid and foul, but adorable nonetheless.

Just beside Harry, Ron’s significantly more sizable polywarg lazily flopped around in a patch of matted grass. Their two slimy polywargs quickly found each other and began ‘playing,’ which consisted of ramming into each other with their slick heads, causing ooze to fly. After about a minute, the two sprawled out on their backs, heaving with tongues draped out the sides of their mouths.

“Hey,” said Ron, who had begun prodding his new pet with a stick he had just found.

“Ron-” Harry paused, thinking of what to say.

“Look,” Ron began, but Harry cut him off.

“I-” 

The two of them seemed hopelessly lost for words.

“Listen,” said Ron, shaking his head. “Me and Hermione should have believed you. Now I’m not blaming anyone… but it was the Order if I’m being honest. They made it seem like we needed to look after you…”

“You and Hermione are in the Order?” frowned Harry. Ron gave a wishy-washy nod. “And the Order told you to make sure I don’t do anything reckless?” It came out a little harsher that Harry had intended.

“No, no… well yeah actually. But we reckon they were wrong!” rushed Ron, showing his palms. Then he mumbled, “We told em you wouldn’t listen anyway. Even if you were wrong about Professor Hargreaves… not saying that you were. Or are.”

Harry couldn’t help but glare at Ron for that.

“The fact is, we’re your friends. Plain and simple. I should have believed you from the beginning.” He gave Harry a sheepish smile, before looking down. “That’s the way I see it, at least.”

Then the two crouched together and looked out at their exhausted polywargs. There, the two of them nodded as boys do when confronted with things of this nature. There was nothing left to say – apology accepted.

With that settled, Ron cleared his throat and changed the subject. “So Listen, Quidditch tryouts are on Sunday,” he said, and his ears turn a bright red. “Obviously you’ll be at the Seeker tryouts, though they’d have to be mental to ever replace you.” - Still looking down at his Polywarg, Harry reddened himself at that - “And I was wondering if you’d stick around for the Chaser tryouts. Elena just told me she probably wouldn’t be able to make it, and I’d like to have at least someone out in the stands.” Ron’s scrunch up his face.

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” said Harry quickly to put Ron at ease. “I promise.” Ron was already a brilliant Quidditch player, he didn’t need Harry or anyone else to be there to play well. But if he wanted Harry there, then he would be there.

“Thanks,” said Ron. 

At that moment, a nasty looking spider with hair and all, crawled across the grass near Ron, who flinched back and shivered. Not even pausing to gawk at it, Ron’s polywarg slapped a webbed paw over it and shoveled it into its mouth. Ron cringed as it noisily crunched down on the spider and then swallowed. 

“Bloody hell, these things are gross. But mind you, I think I’m starting to like this one. If it kills spiders it can’t be all bad,” said Ron, looking pleasantly surprised. “Have you named yours, yet? I was just thinking maybe I could name mine, Spider’s Bane. Bane for short.”

Harry nodded but was quickly distracted by his own polywarg that stumbled up to him on wet semi-translucent legs. 

What am I going to name you? Harry wondered at his polywarg.

Rubbing his belly again, Harry’s eyes immediately began to water from the smell. It was something he wasn’t sure he would ever get used to. 

In a display of the cutest antics, the polywarg rolled onto his back, blinked up at Harry as he tickled his tummy, and purred. 

You know, Harry thought, you really are adorabl- 

The Polywarg hiccupped, and from his mouth came a projectile of green vomited that doused Harry’s face. The stream lasted for too long. And after it petered out, Harry still crouched there, too stunned to move, almost unwilling to believe that he was now covered in, essentially, baby vomit.

In that moment, Harry had decided on a name for the slimy git. Dud. After his cousin Dudley.  
\--------------------  
When Harry, Ron, and Hermione returned to Gryffindor tower that evening, they were relieved to find the common room empty. Hermione took the table near the window and gestured urgently for them to join her. It was clear by the way she eyed the portrait hole behind them that Hermione wanted to discuss something for their ears only. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that he knew what that something was.

Once they were well and settled in, Hermione asked how Hargreaves testing went. Harry told them everything, about the orb called the Gilden, its chaotic transformations and ultimately that it was broken. Paraphrasing Hargreaves words, Harry told them that apparently a thousand years of being left in a damp dungeon could break even something that was goblin-made. 

Ron gave a sad sort of sigh at that. “Now I’ll never know if my bloodtrait trait is being a bloody good Quitch player.”

The three of them laughed at that.

As the night went on and Gryffindor’s came and went from the common room, Ron challenged Harry to a game of wizard’s chess. In the later half of the game, Harry couldn’t help but glance at the portrait hole. It would be soon now. 

Hermione had apparently noticed, because she had slapped shut the book she had been reading and was now eying Harry.

“You’re going to try again tonight, aren’t you?” she said in a hushed voice. It was more of a statement than a question.

Harry returned her gaze with a nod. “I think Hargreaves is going to the clocktower tonight.”

“What makes you say that?” Ron asked.

“Call it a hunch,” answered Harry, daring them to doubt him for the second time.

“Okay,” shrugged Ron. “We’ve had less to go on before.”

“She doesn’t strike me as a Death Eater.” Hermione was beginning to beat a dead horse at this point.

Mad Eye didn’t seem like one either, Harry thought but did not say aloud. He knew it would just start another argument and he did not think he could go another couple days without talking to Ron and Hermione. Besides, he didn’t want to think about Barty Crouch Jr.

“Think about it, Hermione. The load of quicksilver that was stolen over the summer. I mean, I don’t really know what she would use it for….but the fact that she’s a speculomancer. Then there was my dream with Voldemort in my mirror. That can’t be a coincidence.”

The conversation hiccupped as both Ron and Hermione stared at Harry.

“You Know Who was in your dreams?” frowned Ron, looking nervous.

Harry felt his cheeks redden and he hesitated for a moment, before deciding it was best to tell them. He just hoped it didn’t make him sound raving mad that he was taking stock in a dream that was probably just that - a dream.

“Yeah. I had a dream just before I left for the Burrow. Voldemort was there.” - Ron winced at the name - “He was standing in a castle or something looking into a mirror. And I was on the other side. Then suddenly, he was in my bathroom. And Voldemort used a spell that cracked my mirror.” said Harry, feeling embarrassed at having to tell a dream in such poor detail. How silly it must have sounded.

“With all that happened. You’re bound to have a few nightmares about… ya know,” comforted Ron.

“There’s more,” Harry said, going very serious. “When I woke up, the mirror was cracked in the same exact place.”

“What?” Hermione rapidly blinked at him. “Do you have these dreams every night?”

“Not every night,” Harry said, embarrassed. “Not since Snape gave me the Dreamless Sleep Potion. Well, except for last night.”

“The crack, it must have been the result of accidental magic,” Hermione explained away.

“That’s what I thought,” Harry met her half-way. “But now I’m not so sure. It seems that everything keeps coming back to mirrors.”

Coincidence was one thing, but when too many seemingly separate parts kept cropping up, you’d be blind not to take notice.

Ron looked from the portrait hole and then back to Harry. “I wish we could all go with you, mate,” he admitted, “But I don’t think we’ll ever fit under that cloak again. At least not all together.”

Harry looked around at them and screwed up his mouth. Ron was right, each one of them had grown significantly over the summer. It was obvious that fitting under the invisibility cloak without their ankles showing underneath would be difficult, seeing as disembodied feet would likely be as frightening as it would be conspicuous. He was glad it didn't fit them all. He wanted to do this alone. A Death Eater wouldn't think twice about killing Hermione and Ron. That was not a risk he was willing to take.

“Be careful, Harry,” said Hermione. “Please.”

“I will be. Promise.”


	9. Past Reflections

The night wore on and Hermione and Ron retired from the common room, leaving Harry to ponder the Marauder's Map alone. When the last of the Gryffindors returned to their rooms, Harry gathered his invisibility cloak and stuffed it under the table. There was little time for a run in with Elena or any other overly curious housemate. When Hargreaves left her office, Harry would need to move. Losing her again was not an option.

Yet no one disturbed him. Even Elena didn't linger on the sofa or try and rope him into another game. Thinking about it, Harry actually hadn't seen her return from class that afternoon. That didn't give Elena enough credit though. She had an uncanny way of materializing out of thin air when she wanted to.

Harry shifted in his seat, trying to return some much-needed blood to his behind. He had been sitting there for what felt like hours, keeping the map half obscured by the table top, eyes locked onto Hargreaves office.

There, within ink walls, were tiny footprints trailing the name, Annalie Hargreaves. To the map, there were no professors, lords or any political titles. It treated everyone with the same respect, giving just a name and a location.

Only at the eleventh hour did his eyes begin to grow heavy. His body was still suffering from a lack of sleep the night before and it wasn't long before his lids drooped closed, only meaning to rest them for a quick minute.

A dream stole him away. One without beginning or end.

He stood in Hagrid's hut surrounded by a hoard of polywargs. Beyond them, clouds amassed, dark and brooding, on the other side of Hagrid's windows. Fear and awe - so real that he could feel the goose flesh raise on his arms - washed over him.

Harry walked out to meet the storm and was met with a torrent of wind that nearly ripped his feet from the ground. This storm knew him. It desired him. And it only knew death and would destroy all in its path to find him.

Another gust of wind beat about him, cooling the wetness on his cheeks. This was his fight. He would not pet those he loved get hurt.

There was a tickle where his hand hung by his side. Then a wonderful warmness to his fingers.

Harry turned. Hermione had come to stand with him at the edge.

Then the warmth was gone and there was only ash in his hand.

The storm dissolved and all went dark but for a singular radiant mirror set before him. Yet this mirror was semi-transparent as if holding on desperately to its silvery veil.

On the other side, Voldemort stood, looking little more than a creature. Pale skin and scarlet eyes, all too snake-like. The Creature. That was what Elena had called him. There was not a more fitting name.

Relieving himself of his midnight cloak, Voldemort drew his wand to the mirror and muttered an incantation. With a flash of white lightning, it shimmered and rippled like water.

Triumphant, Voldemort screamed a shrill, madness inducing scream.

Then the Dark Lord took a step into the glass as if it were liquid. And vanished.

Harry awoke with a start.

Red and gold, clocks and fireplaces spun in his vision.

He peered around, trying to calm his stomach. It took him a moment to realize he was still in the Gryffindor common room. A moment late and he remembered Hargreaves.

Fearing that it may be too late, Harry shot a look at the clock on the wall. It read just past midnight.

With a jolt, Harry grabbed the marauders map, which had fallen on the floor. He flattened it on the table.

Hargreaves was no longer in her office.

He turned several pages, searching the surrounding wings. Then the adjacent wings. But Hargreaves did not appear in any of them.

What if- Harry wondered. Had she returned to that room under the clocktower?

Re-folding the map, Harry came to the string of corridors that led to the room with the rusted old mirror.

Harry let go a breath of relief. There, hurrying through the corridor toward that very room, was Hargreaves. Her footprints strode in and came upon the wall where the mirror had been last night. She stood there for a second. And then her inky footprint simply evaporated from the map.

Hermione was right! Hargreaves was using the mirror to travel. But where though? To somewhere on the fringes of Hogwarts where she could open a portal to Voldemort?

His chair nearly flew backwards as he bolted from the common room. He stuffed the map into his robes and ran out the portrait hole and across school. All was quiet in the midnight grounds. At least it should have been.

While rushing through the corridor nearest the clock tower, Harry past a section of portraits. Most were either snoring away or drooling. A select few did both. All but one, which did neither. In fact, this very portrait was eying Harry with a lazy eye. This was something Harry found more than a little disturbing. Mainly because that should have been impossible; he was wearing his invisibility clo-

"There is a curfew, you know," said the willowy old wizard, who was holding a quill and writing a letter with the most miserable and pouting brow. "But don't listen to me, I'm just a painting on a wall. 'Oh it is just a portrait,' they scoff. I'm ignored by arrogant students who strut about by day… and now it seems by night as well."

With a jolt of horror, Harry shot a look down and gasped. He was visible!

Harry clapped his mouth shut as his gasp echoed down the hall.

It felt like a long while before the echoed died several halls down. Thankfully, it seemed no one had been around to hear it, namely Filch.

As if some cruel god had heard his thoughts, something small and definitely feline meowed up ahead.

"Oh no," breathed Harry.

It was the unmistakable call of Mrs. Norris when she had found a student out of bed. If Mrs. Norris was near that meant Filch wasn't far behind.

Harry spun around. The hallway was too long to run back. There would be no way to make it around the bend on the far side before Filch saw him.

Mrs. Norris meowed again and the brazier that lit the bend up ahead caught her shadow, distorting her size against the wall as the tabby cat came closer.

Impulse taking hold, Harry sprinted for the door. He did not worry about the painfully loud sound his shoes made. Nor his heavy breathing. Nor the sound of Filch's voice up ahead. The only thing that mattered was getting through the door before Filch saw him.

His fingers tightened around the latch and he pulled. The door wrenched open with a groan and shut with a bang. Heart racing, Harry leaned back against the other side to catch his breath. But he could not rest for long, Filch would have heard his escape.

Harry pushed himself off and searched the familiar room.

It was empty like the map had shown. The mirror was still on the far wall, half covered by a browning sheet that stirred in a breeze that sighed through the open window.

Harry crept over to it with a feeling of nakedness without his cloak. This had been where Hargreaves' footprints had disappeared.

His fingers found a fold of fabric and tugged. The cloth slipped from the frame, revealing an tarnished mirror. Its wrought bronze frame was patinaed with pastel green blotches and the knot-like weave that decorated it was battered and beaten.

Yet there was something about how it caught the moonlight that streamed from the window. It gleamed with a brilliance that shouldn't have been possible with all its stains.

The silvery pane that sat inside too had a curious nature to it. It didn't seem quite solid.

Harry frowned at that and ran a finger down the glass. It rippled at his touch and his fingers left a trail of rings in its wake. Then it was still again, distorting only in the occasional breeze through the window.

"Wha' you see, Mrs. Norris. You smell a student, don'tcha?"

Harry shot a look at the door. It was Filch's voice. From the sound of it, he was on the other side.

Harry turned back to the mirror with an uneasy feeling. There was no other way out of this. The window was too narrow to fit through and there was no furniture to hide behind. The only escape was the same way Hargreaves had gone – through the mirror.

Harry reached out his hand and pressed it onto the surface. He had never used a traveling mirror before and he wondered if there was a trick to it. His concerns were quickly answered once his hand sank into the glass, parting like water.

Harry gasped as his hand flinched back. It was freezing.

The door creaked behind him. He turned just in time to see Mrs. Norris prowl in, let in by Filch. Her red eyes flashed as she turned her furry head to look his direction. Any second Filch would do the same.

With no more time to think, Harry flung himself through the mirror.

The glass swallowed him whole…

"Ah!" Harry groaned as his knees slammed onto cold, hard ground.

It was the strangest sensation Harry had ever felt. Like diving into a pool of freezing cold water. Though, his clothes did not cling to his skin with wet, nor did his hair mat to his forehead. Looking down, he was as dry as could be though every hair on his body had perked up right.

The next thing he noticed was the smell. Like a cold day in winter. And like a cold day in winter, his breath lingered on the air, white and cloudy.

Harry looked around to get some bearing of where he was. The floors were cloaked in a knee-high bed of mists that rolled past him like stream. It was so dense and milky that he could not see his feet and tendrils of the stuff swirled up around him and licked at the hem of his sleeves.

He would have thought he had stepped into a dungeon. But in the faint glow that the mist uncannily provided, Harry could see no walls or ceilings. There was only a darkness that seemed to go on forever in every direction.

Beginning to worry that maybe he had made the wrong choice jumping through the mirror, Harry looked behind him just to check if he still could turn back.

The portal hung there, floating in the air like a pane of glass. Through it, he could see the clocktower room and Filch, who stood just on the other side. The caretaker leered into what was the mirror and prodding it with a grimy finger. Harry held his breath, thinking that Filch would surely enter and discover him. But the glass did not budge for Filch's finger. Every time he pocked it, his seemed finger to meet a solid pane of regular glass.

Finally, Filch grunted. It was very clear what that grunt meant: there was nothing at all suspicious about the mirror (despite the fact that Mrs. Norris kept clawing at the frame). At which point, he used that time to pick at a stubborn bit of broccoli caught in his teeth.

Well…Harry couldn't go back now. Who knew how long Filch would be cleaning his teeth (the caretaker had quite the task ahead of him). There was only one way forward. And since the only thing in this place was a river of mist, he decided to follow it upstream.

He kept low as he went on. If Hargreaves was ahead, he didn't want to make his presence known prematurely. There was time for that, when he got the evidence he needed to confront her.

"Mistress…"

Harry recognized that crackly voice. It must have been Malik's, Hargreaves' accomplice.

"Quiet. I'm almost through," he heard Hargreaves say.

"Mistress, there is not enough power," Malik told her.

Harry got a better vantage point and saw, in the glow of the mist ahead, Hargreaves with her wand drawn. White lightning spraying from its tip and collided with a fissure of silver that hung just before her. The fissure seemed to tear open the darkness, and mist gushed from it as if blood from an open wound.

Beside her, levitating above the mist, was one of the most strangely dressed men Harry had ever seen. Atop his head rested a brilliant crimson cap with a little plume that dangled off to the side. Below that, he wore just an open ornate vest and harem pants that billowed out at the legs. These were all good and fine and reminded Harry of the differently dressed wizards that had attended the Quidditch World Cup. What took Harry by surprise was the gold mask he wore. It covered every feature but his mouth and his eyes. It didn't look like any Death Eater Mask Harry had ever seen before.

Malik seemed to be helping Hargreaves with his arms were outstretched with purpose, though Harry could see no wand.

"Just a little longer!" Hargreaves shouted. "I'm almost through."

Even Harry could see that that was definitely not the case. The silver fissure was undoubtedly shrinking.

A explosion then light lit the darkness, white and blinding. And Harry watched as the fissure hissed and sizzled and writhed as the darkness over took it.

"No!" Hargreaves cried. It was a guttural sound that might have made Harry feel bad for her if she hadn't been trying to open a portal to Voldemort. "No…" she said again, yet this time it was soft and only to herself.

"I am sorry I could not do more, Mistress. We are too few…" said Malik, yet there was no sympathy or sadness in his words; in fact, there was no emotion at all.

"We will try again. Tomorrow," Hargreaves straightened. "How much quicksilver is left?"

"Quicksilver?" Harry whispered to himself, remembering the Quicksilver Quarry theft.

"Not enough-" her companion began, but then halted abruptly and turned to look directly at Harry, who froze. He did not dare to breathe and disturb the mist. Malik then cocked his head to one side and said, "We are not alone…"

Hargreaves' navy robes whipped about as she spun around to peer into the quickly dissipating mist. It was not hard to pick Harry's black shaggy hair out of the sea of patchy white around him.

"Mr. Potter?" Hargreaves asked as if she could not believe her eyes.

Harry's heart was hammering in his chest now. Yet it was not from fear. It was his fury at Hargreaves that she had come into his home and tried to hurt the people he loved. It was his elation he felt at being right about her. And there was a certain courage that brought him, a resolution.

Working his fists and feeling reckless, Harry stood up from the mist which had all but gone now.

"Hello, Professor," he spat.

"How did you get in here?" asked Hargreaves catching him with her piercing eyes.

It was not the reaction Harry had been expecting. Her frown was more disturbed curiosity than the rage or delight he had expected from a Death Eater who had just seen the Boy Who Knows.

"You're just like them! You're a Death Eater," shouted Harry, his fury that he had been right all along, boiling over.

"A Death Eater…?" Hargreaves scoffed.

"Admit it! You're trying to open a portal to Voldemort, aren't you?" said Harry.

She had to be a Death Eater. Why else would she be sneaking out at night and skulking around in magic mirrors? Why else would she be looking for bloodtraits, when Voldemort had the ability to take them from wizards? She was on the Dark Lord's side. There was no denying that.

Hargreaves stiffened. "I don't think you are in a position to demand answers of me, Mr. Potter," she snapped. "You are a student out of bed and are disturbing delicate research. So you will be answering my question. How did you get in here?"

"Research? You expect anyone to believe that?" seethed Harry, knuckles balled by his side. When Hargreaves did not yield to the question, Harry added, "I've been following you for a while now. I know you are looking for a specific bloodtrait. I heard you talking with Malik."

"You just followed me… Mr. Potter" said Hargreaves and wheels turned behind her eyes. "And you just followed me into the mirror, did you?"

"Well, yeah." Harry gave a snarky laugh. "How else could I be here?"

Hargreaves strode towards him.

Harry pulled free his wand and leveled it at her.

"Put that thing away," she scoffed as if his drawn wand was some silly anecdote. "You are to come with me. Immediately"

"There's only one place I'm going with you," – Harry tightened the grip on his wand – "And that's to Dumbledore!"

Hargreaves raised an eyebrow, almost amused. "Boy, that is precisely where we are going."

\-------------------------------------

"Treacle Tart," recited Hargreaves.

The stone gargoyle awakened, twisted upward and revealed the winding staircase that led up to the Headmaster's office.

There was pain in Harry's shoulder where Hargreaves held him, and it began to pulse when she forcefully led him up the steps.

For Harry, the fact that he was being led to Dumbledore's office and not directly to Voldemort had him deeply, deeply confused. Harry couldn't be in the wrong. It was Hargreaves who had been plotting to smuggle a student out of school so that Voldemort could steal their bloodtrait. It was a good thing that Harry and Hargreaves were going to Dumbledore… that way the Headmaster would finally know what Hargreaves was plotting. So why did he feel like he had gotten something terribly wrong?

Hargreaves turned to Malik, who had accompanied them into the waiting room. For being an accomplice to kidnapping, the man didn't even seem to bat an eye as they neared Dumbledore's person. But it was difficult to see his face clearly, since most of it was hidden by the golden mask.

Granted, there wasn't much harm that could be done to him since he wasn't there in the flesh. Malik looked back at Hargreaves from out a round vanity-like mirror that hovered a good meter off the ground. Harry guessed it was a communication mirror. It made sense now why Harry hadn't seen anyone in the classroom that day he overheard Hargreaves. Malik must have been working with her remotely.

Harry screwed up his face. But that still didn't explain how Harry had seen Malik in person on the other side of that rust old mirror. He had levitating above the mist with his own two feet just beside Hargreaves as she tried to open up the portal.

"Stay here with the boy," she told Malik, cutting into Harry's thoughts. "I should be out shortly."

Harry had an urge to say something like, you'll be in Azkaban shortly. But didn't on the account that Harry's confidence that Hargreaves was a Death Eater was quickly waning.

Hargreaves turned and strode through the double doors that led to Dumbledore's office, shutting them behind her. That left Malik and Harry alone.

Over the years, Harry had found that the gap between the two heavy doors was very good for overhearing things. Thankfully, Hargreaves conversation with Dumbledore was no exception. As Harry put his ear to it, he expected Malik to stop him. But the old man did not such thing, only watching him with a kind of disinterest.

"Annalie. To what do I owe this pleasure," he said amiably. Then added knowingly, "Harry is with you."

"He is, Albus. Mr. Potter disturbed my work with the Mirror of Ateli Kosmos."

Dumbledore frowned. "Ah. There is little use keeping Potter from the room. I'm sure he is listening in anyway," he sighed. "Harry, will you join us please?"

Harry pushed open the doors to the office and thundered in. "Professor Dumbledore, Hargreaves was…" he raced.

"Now, now, Harry," said Dumbledore, cutting him off, "Annalie and I were having a very nice conversation. I believe we have the right to finish, don't you think?"

"But, Professor-"

Dumbledore gave Harry a look that made him wilt, before gesturing for Hargreaves to continue.

"He followed me into the mirror, Albus," Hargreaves said very seriously.

"Only because she was trying to open a portal to Voldemort!"

"The Dark Lord? Don't be stupid, boy," cracked Hargreaves.

"Harry, I do not want to remove you from my office, but I will," Dumbledore gave him a stern look over the top of his half-moon spectacles. Harry huffed but otherwise let her finish.

"Are you aware of what this means?" she continued to Albus.

"I am aware. It would appear Harry is a speculomancer," breathed Dumbledore, and in that moment, Harry saw the Headmaster look every year his age.

"I'm a what?" asked Harry, genuinely confused.

"A speculomancer," Hargreaves repeated. "You have a very special bloodtrait. You are a master of mirrors."

Harry looked from Hargreaves to Dumbledore, and back again, thinking that they must have made a mistake.

"That's impossible. You said it yourself, I only have one bloodtrait."

"I said, you most likely had only one bloodtrait. You proved otherwise when you walked through that mirror."

"What? But anyone can walk through a traveling mirror. I didn't do anything anyone else couldn't."

"The Mirror of Ateli Kosmos is part of a very special class of traveling mirrors, Harry," explained Dumbledore. "Only a speculomancer would have the facility to use it."

"Albus," Hargreaves cut in, showing a lack of respect for the Headmaster that irritated Harry, "I want to tutor the boy. He is a speculomancer and as so deserves a fitting teacher."

Harry shook his head, disbelieving. "No, no way, I'm not doing lessons with her." He jabbed a finger at Hargreaves.

Dumbledore decidedly ignored Harry's outburst. "I think that would be wise, Annalie," he said.

Harry's fists began to shake. Lessons? With her?! Had Dumbledore gone mad? If Hargreaves was in league with Voldemort, putting him in a classroom with her would mean his death.

"But she's a Death Eater!" shouted Harry, not knowing what else to say.

Hargreaves gave a curt nod to Dumbledore. "Gracious." She then turned to Harry. "Quit your whining and follow me." And strode from the office.

Harry did not budge."Professor…" he argued, pleading with Dumbledore in a last-ditch effort to explain what he saw in that mirror. But Dumbledore silenced him with a look.

"Rudeness is not becoming, Harry. You have already insulted Hargreaves enough. Know that she has my full support, and that although trust is hard to give," - Dumbledore eyed him over his half-moon spectacles - "there are still those who deserve it."

Harry bit his tongue. Asking him to respect Dumbledore's endorsement of Hargreaves was one thing, to encourage him to trust the miserable woman was another. He had already trusted too many people who didn't deserve it, and the Dark Lord had been reborn because of it.

"Am I free to leave now, professor?" asked Harry through a tight jaw.

Dumbledore regarded him for a moment with a sad smile that did not waver.

"One more bit of advice is all. Rules are most often put in place to protect. Please adhere to them in the future," he told Harry and then looked past him to the staircase. "Now, I would not keep Professor Hargreaves waiting."

"Yes, Professor," groaned Harry reluctantly before taking off after her.

Hargreaves was already halfway down the hall when he reached the bottom and Malik's mirror floated along beside her.

Seething, Harry had to run to catch her.

"You will meet me in my office the first Tuesday of every month after classes, beginning next week. Is that understood?"

"What? Next Tuesday? But that's Quidditch tryouts!" argued Harry in outrage.

While his position at Seeker was most likely secure, Ron was going to be trying out for the Quidditch team this year. Harry had already told Ron he would be there in the stands. It had been a promised.

"This is not a discussion, Mr. Potter. I am giving up valuable time to teach you. If that is when Quidditch tryouts take place, then you will not be attending. Is that understood?"

Harry balled his fist; embarrassed and furious and imagining how sweet it would be to jinx her to the ceiling. Instead he glared at her, trying to see past her general impassiveness. Who was Hargreaves really? A Death Eater or an ally that Dumbledore trusts? If he was going to be spending the first Tuesday of every month, he needed to know.

"Which side are you on?" he asked with eyes so narrow it was a wonder he could see anything through them.

Hargreaves shot him a look. "What do you mean, silly boy?"

Harry reddened. "Voldemort or our side? Which one are you on?" It was an honest question, albeit, more than a little aggressive in its delivery.

Her chin raised. "I am on my side. I do not waste my time on this war of your any more than I am obligated to. Now I think that is quite enough out of you for the evening," she said before producing a letter from inside her robes. "Before you run along to your Gryffindor tower, there is a task I need you to do. You will go by the owlery and send this out with the swiftest owl."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. Hargreaves wanted more from him?! "Now? But, Professor, it's late. I'm not supposed to be-"

"That didn't seem to stop you earlier this evening. Consider it your punishment. And as for your upcoming detention, that will have to wait as well. With any hope I won't have to reinstate it." She gave him a warning look. "Now run along. This letter needs to be send out as soon as possible." She did not give him another chance to argue, quickening her pace and leaving Harry in her dust.

Harry groaned. He was frustrated, and his body ached from exhaustion. Nothing sounded sweeter than sinking into his bed, and yet he had to travel all the way to the Owlery like an errand-boy. Granted, at least he wasn't being expelled.

Harry looked down at the letter and turned it in his hands, with his wand lit, as he wound through corridors. It had been addressed to a man named Derikk Glasswater, someone Harry had had never heard of.

There was little to do on his way to the Owlery but to think of Hargreaves and what she had said about being on her own side. How could Hargreaves not have a side? Everyone though had to choose one. No one would escape Voldemort if he won. It was either join him or die. The Dark Lord saw no third option.

Author's notes:

This chapter was a long time coming. It was definitely one of the more difficult chapters to write because it handles a big reveal while also introducing a ton of uncertainty. Just when Harry thought the truth would be revealed and that Hargreaves would turn out to really be a Death Eater, he finds far more questions than answers.

Where do you think the Hargreaves portal leads to? Voldemort? Or somewhere else?

Sorry this chapter took so long to post. I finished it later than usual. On that note I am looking for beta! PM if you are interested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a long time coming. It was definitely one of the more difficult chapters to write because it handles a big reveal while also introducing a ton of uncertainty. Just when Harry thought the truth would be revealed and that Hargreaves would turn out to really be a Death Eater, he finds far more questions than answers. 
> 
> Where do you think the Hargreaves portal leads to? Voldemort? Or somewhere else?
> 
> Sorry this chapter took so long to post. I finished it later than usual. On that note, I am looking for a second beta! PM if you are interested.


	10. You're a Speculomancer, Harry

The next Morning Harry shuffled into the Herbology greenroom behind the horde of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, yawning audibly. He examined the room with one lazy eye, while the other rested behind a heavy lid; it had been a rough night after all. He had gotten back to his bed well past midnight and took a touch of sleeping draught. Not enough to knock him out for eight hours, but just enough for the three-hour nap he barely had time for in order to function that following morning.

Unfortunately, he had overslept and just barely managed to spring out of bed before the start of Herbology. Harry's stomach growled at him, letting him just what it thought of its empty contents.

As he came further in, he saw two rows of potted flowers that stretched the length of the greenhouse. Each one had flecks of gold on their dazzlingly orange petals and long green stems that swayed gently despite there being no draft.

Waiting at the far end of the greenhouse, was Professor Sprout.

She was a squat, older woman, who sported a set of well-worn gardener gloves, a forest green apron and a host of greying curls that framed the no-nonsense face she reserved for Herbology class.

"File in and choose your flower. Don't be timid. Come on. You will be feeding and nurturing tiger lilies today," she stressed.

At the mention of their name the room erupted into a host of loud one-way conversations. Looking around, Harry noticed that it was not the students who were talking, but the flowers.

"Oh, how are you today? It's a lovely one at that, wouldn't you agree? Bright beautiful sun, and warm too. Oh, I do just love the sun," one ranted on.

"Come over here. Pick me. Pick me," another one tried eagerly to entice a wary Ravenclaw.

"As you may have noticed these are talking tiger lilies. But unlike other talking flora, tiger lilies can only speak when spoken to. They need a conversation or two a day to keep them from wilting.

"So, you are to turn their soil, compact it so it is firm and make polite conversation with them until they fall asleep."

"How long is that going to take exactly?" moaned Seamus as a lily gossiped at him about a supposedly risqué flower two pots down.

"As long as it takes, Finnegan, as long as it takes," said Professor Sprout. "They are known for not having great stamina. Talking is hard work for a plant. Also, be warned: they pry, so keep a good head about you."

With these instructions, the class gathered around the pots and individually chose their flower.

The tiger lily Harry had picked leaned uncomfortably close to him, its stalk bowed, so that it's long anthers brushed his nose.

"Hi," Harry greeted it awkwardly. He felt a bit silly talking to a flower.

"Hello there handsome." it said, its lower stem swaying like womanly hips.

"Uhm." It was a surreal experience talking to something that technically had no mouth or eyes, and yet its leaves came together to form a pseudo-mouth and its long anthers bunched together to vaguely resemble two eyes.

"That's okay. You don't have to speak. I'm used to doing the talking. Just relax. I'll take care of you," she said (assuming it was a she) and her petaled head darkened several shades to a deep orange bordering on vermillion. "So, it's your first time?"

"First time for what," Harry fumbled with his words. He was not entirely sure where this conversation was going.

"Why, talking to a flower, of course," the flower said, as if Harry had said something delightfully scandalous. "Oh, I like it when you look at me that way. So much fire in those green eyes. So much… passion."

While the flower pattered on, Harry had begun looking around desperately for Ron, who was in the midst of a lecture from Hermione about the properties of enchanted soil. Elena was paying little attention to her and was wandering away from them, when Harry caught eyes with Ron and Hermione. He feverishly waved them over to two empty stations beside him.

"What happened last night," asked Hermione, coming nearer to examine him for any cuts or bruises. Harry swallowed. It was uncomfortable, feeling the warmth radiating off her body. And yet, he reveled in her touch as she ran a finger over a scrape on his cheek that he didn't know he had.

Once she was satisfied that Harry was perfectly fine, she gave him a, well go on then, sort of look. At that, Harry sucked in a deep breath and told them everything: how he forgot the invisibility cloak in the common room, his run in with Mrs. Norris and Filch, jumping through a mirror called Ateli Kosmos, and catching Hargreaves in the act of opening a portal in a very strange place that seemed to be made of darkness. At the mention of that, Ron threw a smug look at Hermione. It said, I told you so.

"Remember those mirrors I was talking about back at the burrow? Mirrors that could take you to strange places?" Ron folded his arms, enjoying the moment. "I think Harry went through one of those."

Hermione said firmly, "We don't know that for sure."

Ron looked to Harry for support, but Harry was hesitant to give it.

"I don't know. Dumbledore said there was something special about that mirror, that only a speculomancer could go through it. And that…place, wherever it was, wasn't like any place I've ever seen before."

The implication of Harry's words was not lost on Ron or Hermione.

Hermione's widened, showing her deep brown eyes. "Only a speculomancer… but that means-"

"Bloody hell, Harry!" exclaimed Ron in a whisper that bordered on a shout. "You're a speculomancer?"

"Yeah," groaned Harry, scratching his head. "Hargreaves wants to teach me, starting next week. Dumbledore's orders."

Hermione's surprise quickly subsided, and the corners of her mouth began to twitch. "So, in the end, she had Dumbledore's full support. Like I told you."

"Don't rub it in, Hermione," mumbled Harry. "Anyway, I'm still not completely convinced she's not doing dark magic."

"Well, while you were sleeping in, I was doing a bit of research on Hargreaves this morning," said Hermione. "She is the most important and powerful known speculomancer of our time. In fact, she comes from a line of famous speculomancers, and its tragic really, both her grandmother and her daughter disappeared 30 years apart. Imagine how lonely she must feel, especially at being one of only five known speculomancers left in the world. And that includes you, Harry."

"She's famous?" Harry rolled his eyes. "Why does it seem like every famous witch or wizard is dreadful to be around?"

"Well, Dumbledore's famous, isn't he?" Ron pointed out.

Hermione raised a bemused eyebrow at Harry. "Did you forget you that are famous?"

"Oh, yeah. Hell,am I dreadful to be around?" asked Harry, his eyes bulging.

"Absolutely," said Ron with chuckle.

The three of them burst into laughter and their flowers joined in. It was a bit of a shock when they did since all three had forgotten they were still there (their rambling had become white noise at that point).

"So yeah, I have private lessons with Hargreaves every week, starting Tuesday," said Harry, looking down at his plant. He could feel the heat of Ron's stare on his neck.

"But that's Quidditch tryouts!"

"I know. I'm sorry Ron…"

There was a moment where the incessant talking of the tiger lilies was the only thing that he could hear.

Then Ron made a noise like he didn't care much, though it wasn't convincing. "If you can't make it, you can't make it. Hermione, you think you'll be free?"

"Of course," she confirmed.

Ron smiled but not so brightly as he would have if it had been Harry. Thankfully, Hermione's next question pivoted topics.

"So what of this Malik person?" whispered Hermione, who began turning her soil. "The way I see it, Hargreaves isn't a Death Eater. But she also isn't on 'our side,' as you put it. If you really want to understand someone's work (or someone's ethics) you need to know their colleagues. Can you describe him?"

"Well…" Harry described what exactly Malik looked like and how her hadn't come out of the mirror of Ateli Kosmos, instead walking into a communication mirror that floated beside them all the way to Dumbledore's office. Oh, and that he wore a mask.

At the mention of this, Ron stiffened, forgetting about the Quidditch tryouts, and oddly asked, "A mask? What kind of mask?"

"A golden one," replied Harry. "It covered nearly his entire face. I could see his mouth and his eyes, but not much else."

Ron's eyes had gone wide. "He didn't use a wand either, did he?" Though it was posed as a question, there wasn't much doubt in it.

"No… he didn't. I thought that odd too," frowned Harry.

"Harry, I think Hargreaves has a Living Mirror." Ron's mouth fell slightly agape at his own revelation.

"A what?" both Harry and Hermione said in unison.

"It's the rarest kind of magic mirror there is. They're often companions to powerful speculomancers, at least they have been in the tales my mom used to tell us as kids."

"Living mirrors," Harry began, and the image of Malik resting in the oval mirror triggered a memory. "Like in Snow White?"

Harry expected Hermione to scoff, but she did not. On the contrary, she looked very interested in what Ron had to say on the subject.

"Snow what?" frowned Ron.

"The story of the evil queen poisoning her step daughter with an apple-" Harry began but was cut off by Ron.

"Oh yeah, I know that story, though you've got a few things wrong," he said. "And why are you calling it Snow Something?"

"Cause that's what it's called, isn't it?" Harry glanced at Hermione, hoping to find some reassurance.

He had only heard the story once or twice while hiding outside of Dudley's room during story time. Every night until Dudley had a TV installed in his room, Aunt Petunia would read a collection of fairytales to him before bed. She had been furious to find Harry asleep in the hall outside his door on more than one occasion.

Hermione nodded.

"No, it isn't," said Ron frowning at them both. "According to mum – and pretty much any wizard ever – its called The Fallen City." Ron waited for that to jog their memories. When it didn't, Ron added, "You know, where the witch queen ruled all ten kingdoms from her kingdom in the clouds, but her step children poisoned her to ascend to the throne and for that they were cursed. Though, I don't know if that's actually how it happened."

Hermione shot a befuddled look at Harry, who returned it in fold.

"Um, but it didn't actually happen, Ron." said Hermione warily. "It's just a story."

Ron did not back down. "A lot of wizarding stories come from history, Hermione. Then they make their way to the muggle world, which I'm guessing is why you get so much wrong." he said as if it were the most obvious thing. "Think about it Hermione, it's only within the last three hundred years that wizards have invented Everlasting Historical Logs. All records past that didn't last long so they were told as stories."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, causing Ron's explanation to peter out. "…you think that Snow White actually happened?"

"Well I didn't say that," said Ron exasperatedly. "Not the way the story goes. But there is evidence that Queen Alainn actually existed. She's mentioned a few times in The Origins of History and again in Before History Began. I'm not saying she actually had ruled the world from a castle in the sky. Nobody knows how much of the story is true, but we know at least some of it happened."

"Since when do you know so much about history? You hate Professor Binns' class," Harry pointed out.

"Well mum's got loads of history books in the attic, came from my Great Granddad Gilford's collection. But also, Professor Binns has been sending me books to read over the last few months. They're really interesting. About history and war-time strategy. I can lend them to you if you want," he finished eagerly.

Harry became very interested in what his lily had to say. Something about how Harry's shovel was digging painfully into her roots. He promptly stopped and put down his shovel. History had never interested him much of all.

"Why would Binns do that?" asked Hermione. And she did have a point. Professor Binns never seemed particularly engaged with his students and vice versa. Being in class with the ghost seemed like one endless droning lecture. He had never once asked a question to the class or ever let on that he knew any one of the student's names. But maybe there was more to Binns than Harry knew, though he doubted it.

Ron looked to the side. "Not sure really. At first, I almost sent them back, but then I saw one about the high wizards of the old wars, and thought I'd take a look. There's some really great stuff in those books about wizarding war strategy," said Ron. And then his ears went a deep scarlet as he compacted his soil. "Next time we run into Voldemort, I want to actually do something useful," he finished quietly.

Both Hermione and Harry frowned at him.

"What are you talking about? Your always helpful," insisted Hermione.

Ron seemed to sag. "Wasn't much help when Sirius was dragging me into the Shrieking Shack or when I was babysitting Lockhart in the Chamber of Secrets or when Harry was taken to the graveyard."

"I'm glad you weren't there with me in the graveyard, Ron." Harry looked him dead in the eyes and did not blink. "You would have died. I only escaped on luck," admitted Harry, feeling a numbness spread through his chest. "When I fight Voldemort next, I don't want you two to be there. I don't want anyone to be there."

There was a scuffle and a shout from behind them. All three turned to look.

"You stop talking or I'll snip you," Elena said, threatening her flower with a pair of shears.

"Oh she's getting snippy with me. I can't contain my sheer dread. I think I might just soil myself." The flower laughed as quips rolled off its pedals. It was a spry thing and managed to dodged Elena's attempts at murder.

"Shut up."

"I see you. You're like a flower to foreign soil," the tiger lily antagonized Elena. "Do you miss it? I wouldn't know what it was like. My only home has been this pot."

"I don't care," said Elena, still trying to grab its head.

"How rude!" barked the flower. "So impolite and only after we just met."

"That's it!" Elena growled as she caught hold of its stem.

All it took was a snip, and the tiger lily's head flopped onto the bed of hard soil. It did not talk again.

Neville stood beside Elena, mouth agape in utter horror.

"Gabor! We do not murder our plants here at Hogwarts!" shouted Professor Spout, nearly as horrified as Neville. "I do not know how Transylvanians conducts themselves, but here in my class rule you will follow my rules."

Elena rolled her eyes as if it were the flowers fault, saying something harshly in a foreign tongue as she looked down at its decapitated, petaled head.

Harry, Hermione and Ron didn't talk much after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know my updates have been all over the place. So starting this week I'm really going to try and stick to Monday nights. That gives me the weekend to finish up edits and get them over to my betas. Thank you to everyone who has been patient. I can't tell you how your comments and support help me through he process.


	11. Two Meetings and a Lesson

There was a disturbance in the Great Hall during breakfast. It started in the midst of that mornings mail delivery, when an owl dropped a Daily Prophet in front of Pansy Parkinson. Before it had arrived, she and Malfoy had been pointing and laughing at a rather frumpy looking Hufflepuff. But she quickly went as white as a sheet of ice when she untied the Prophet and read.

Malfoy and of few of the other Slytherins, having taken notice of this stark change, crowded around. One by one their faces fell. Malfoy's most of all. He looked sick even. There were some however, who's mouths twitched with glee, Crab and Goyle and a hand full of other Slytherins.

Wondering what could possibly scare Malfoy and yet cause his henchmen incurable delight, Harry turned to Hermione, who too had the prophet gripped tightly in her hands.

"Um, Hermione," inquired Harry worriedly. "what's going on? Has another person gone missing?"

Hermione jutted her jaw and then shook her head in disbelief.

"There are riots at the ministry," she said and then turned the paper for him to see. "The world knows about the grimoires."

Pictures of furious witches and wizards, each brandishing their wand at a barrier of Aurors that stood firm, determined not to let them pass, covered the page.

'Breaking News: Revelation Causes Unrest:  
Riots at the ministry building ignited yesterday afternoon after famed speculomancer and former Head Decryptor at the Department of Mysteries, Annalie Hargreaves, sent letters to every news outlet in Europe detailing the ministry's alleged mishandlings of two mythical grimoires. Known to many as one of the darkest of the dark arts, grimoires of the Eldritch Arts were allegedly stolen from the Department of Mysteries more than one year ago by Barty Crouch Jr and Peter Pettigrew, two Death Eaters known to have plotted to resurrect You Know Who. If Hargreaves is to be believed, these very books were used in the ritual – recounted by the Boy Who Knows - to revive You Know Who just three months ago.

"Damn them! It's the ministry's fault You Know Who How is back! They've condemned us all," one furious rioter had to say.

It is unclear how long this riot will continue and if it will come to violence. However, tension is only continuing to grow as the Destaunt Cornwallis, the Minister for Magic, refuses to make a statement.'

Harry had only just finished reading it, when he noticed Hermione straighten from the corner of his eye. A teacher must have been near. Hermione only became so formal when one was around or watching.

"Mr. Potter."

At the call of his name, Harry turned around and found himself face to waist with Professor McGonagall. Looking up, Harry saw her usually stern brow, tense further at the sight of the Daily Prophet.

"A Message from the Headmaster," she said, taking her eyes off the Prophet and handing him a note. Without waiting to exchange pleasantries, McGonagall was away again.

It seemed McGonagall had been aware of the riots.

Hermione nodded to the note. "Well go on Harry," she encouraged him.

"Right," Harry said, staring down the note.

'Harry, I need to see you in my office. 7:30 tonight should do. – Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster'

"He wants to meet me tonight. In his office." Harry looked up to Hermione. "Can't imagine why though. Wasn't like he wanted to hear me out last time." He was still a bit bitter about Dumbledore's blatant disregard of his side of the story with Hargreaves.

"Your ministry vill likely not last the fall term," interjected Elena, from behind him.

Her and Ron had come into the hall, unbeknownst to Harry and Hermione. She held hands with Ron, who had a Prophet and a letter tucked under his arm. He did not contradict Elena.

Ron sat hard beside Harry. "Dad's usually puts these sorts of thing into perspective when the Prophet's outdone itself on the sorts of rubbish it writes," he told them, staring past his hands.. "He reckons it's serious this time. No one knows what will happen next."

A grimness had settled over them. Even Hermione didn't try and lighten the mood, seeing as she usual was able to brush off this sort of thing.

"Dad might lose his job. Hell, there might not be a job for him to come back to tomorrow."

Harry felt his heart twist at the thought of Mr. Weasley out of a job. He just hoped that Mr. Weasley was saving the TriWizard Cup winnings he had given him just before the start of the summer. There was a reason Ron's family had been able to afford a trip to Romania to see Charlie, though Harry prayed Ron would never know that.

"That Hargreaves, one might think she has planned it this way," posed Elena, breaking into his thoughts.

"What do you mean by that?" asked Hermione.

"It is odd, no, that she writes a letter to every one of your papers with this information? Information so poverful it makes riots in the street? Vhy do this? She seems to care little for these politics. And she is not the self-sacrificing type, we can all agree on this. So vhy?"

"Your right about one thing," Harry began. "She's told me herself she doesn't care about any side, Voldemort, the ministry, the order. Though she did say something about going as far as her obligations and no further. Whatever that meant."

Elena grinned at this as if it were some intriguing clue to a mystery. "No loyalty to any side, and yet is bound to someone else's vill. To whom, vould be the next quvestion. And vhy vould this person want to veaken the ministry?"

Harry felt the hairs on his neck prickle.

It wasn't long after that the entire hall was thrown into chaos, everyone fretting about the outside world and the meaning of the riots. It was only defused by McGonagall, who told them all to keep calm and carry on with classes and then proceeded to cast a spell upon the enchanted ceiling that rained on anyone who so much as mentioned riots, the ministry or grimoires.

After Harry scrambled to fill three parchments on the Four Branches of Bloodtraits – courtesy of Professor Hargreaves – Harry climbed the final step to Dumbledore's office. Checking his watch, he remembered that it was still broken. He really needed to fix that.

"It is your duty," said a man's voice. It was coming from inside Dumbledore's office. If the Headmaster's voice was calm and unwavering, this one was terse and rasping. It sounded foreign yet all too familiar at the same time.

Harry crept closer to the gap in the door, hoping to find out just who would demand anything from the Headmaster of Hogwarts in such a way.

"You have made it abundantly clear that my duty is to this school and to its students," said Dumbledore genially. "And let's not forget, its teachers as well."

"If that is what you gathered, then you misunderstood, Albus," said the man, simply, as if denying that any such conversation ever took place. The man then cleared his throat from an excess of phlegm. "Mmm. In which case, I should make myself clear. Your duty is to me and the ministry. And my people need to have faith in both if we are going to win this war. That is why you need to show them. Help me convince them that the ministry is still strong."

"Perhaps, it's you who needs to convince them. I am merely a Headmaster. They elected you, not me," said Dumbledore. "They are afraid. Confide in them and show them that they are led by a man with a great deal of trust to give and the courage to persevere. Stand before your people, Destaunt, and tell them the truth."

Harry's breath caught at the door. Suddenly he felt very uncomfortable, having been eavesdropping on two of the most important wizards in the wizarding world. He made to turn away when, the minister caught his ear and his words pulled him back.

"They don't want the truth. Mmm. Besides, they will eat me alive."

"Then let them do so. If anything, it will show them that the ministry is willing to admit their mistake."

"Yes yes, except for the fact that it was under Cornelius leadership that the grimoires were stolen, not mine. But no one seems to care about that. No, what they want is blood, Albus, blood," the minister punched. He then sighed and through the gap in the door Harry saw the minster take a chair and sink into it, cradling his brow with a thumb and forefinger.

"Forgive me, I have not slept much." Destaunt ran his hand down his face. " It needs to come from you. The ministry must stand strong, or at least have the appearance of it," he finished, hoping Dumbledore might change his mind. When he made no appearance of doing so, Destaunt cleared his throat and added, "Mmm. Fine. If not for duty, then… for my word." He groaned that last part as if his word was the most significant and difficult thing to say in the world.

Harry shifted to catch Dumbledore's reaction and saw the Headmaster raise a silvery eyebrow.

"I, of course, would need more than your word on that, Destaunt."

"I know, I know, The Unbreakable Vow," he waved away, though his tone was anything but cavalier. "But only if you do this for me. Forget the Hargreaves woman."

"And what exactly is it that you want me to do?"

"I've just told you," the minister snapped impatiently.

"Very well," said Dumbledore, outstretching his arm to the minister, who rose from his armchair and embraced the Headmaster all the way up to the elbow. Whatever the Unbreakable Vow was, the minister wanted to get it over with.

Dumbledore then passed his wand over the joining. Where their arms met, a sinew of gold appeared and bound them together in a knot.

Destaunt spoke first.

"Will you put an end to these riots, no matter what it takes?"

"I will," replied Dumbledore.

"And will you assure the people that I was not to blame for the theft?"

Dumbledore smiled warmly, and a twinkle shone in his brilliant blue eyes. "That should be easy enough. And do you, Destaunt, grant me one favor, whatever it be?"

"Yes, of course" rushed the minister.

The golden stand brightened, before it sunk into both of their robes. And then it was over.

"Albus," the minister nodded curtly, sounding pleased with himself. "Now I must be going."

In his haste to leave, Destaunt freed himself from Dumbledore and hurried to the door. Harry sprung back from the gap as the minister came towards him and retreated back to one of the benches that hugged the side wall. Once there, he pretended to be studying a portrait of a gazelle that hung on the wall.

"When can we expect your speech?" Destaunt must have turned back around just before he made it to the door, because his voice was only slightly muffled.

He didn't hear Dumbledore's reply, but Harry knew that the Headmaster gave one because he could hear just the faint mumble from further in. Then the doors were swinging wide open and the minster was hastening to the stairs. But not before he caught sight of Harry.

"Oh my, Harry Potter?" he said, looking a bit alarmed. He looked quickly back into the office, probably wondering if Harry could have overheard anything. "You were his 7:30 then?"

Harry nodded before asking with a hint of sarcasm, "Still keeping up the good fight, minister?" He didn't mean to say it, but it just kind of slipped out. Or maybe he did mean to say it. The minister of magic would not speak to his own people during a riot because he feared they would blame him? There was no courage in that.

The minister narrowed his drooping eyes onto Harry. "We are doing all that we can."

Once the minister had gone, Harry entered the office to find Dumbledore, greeting him with a twinkle still in his eye.

"I take it you overheard our little meeting?" asked Dumbledore.

Harry gave a sort of awkward nod.

"Good. Well then that saves us a bit of time. I want you to attend this speech of mine," said Dumbledore. "Of course, only if you are willing-"

"Why? I'm just a student," Harry asked, taken aback. He didn't mean to sound ungrateful, but he didn't understand why Dumbledore would want a student with him while he tried to talk down angry rioters.

"You do yourself a discredit, Harry. You are more than just a student. You are Harry Potter, a student, yes, but also an accomplished wizard," – he looked at Harry from over his half-moon spectacles – "and, although you can get ahead of yourself from time to time, you are a wizard I can trust."

Color rushed to Harry's cheeks.

"I'll go," he said firmly.

"Marvelous," smiled Dumbledore. "Now unless you have any questions of me, that concludes our meeting."

"Wait, that's it?" frowned Harry. He had expected more.

"Yes, that is it. I will call on you when it is time."

/~~\

It was Tuesday evening already and Harry stood outside Hargreaves office. It had been three days since his meeting with Dumbledore and he had half wished the Headmaster would have pulled him out of school just before his private lesson. Since Dumbledore had yet to address the wizarding world, the riots rage on. Morning after morning the front page of the Daily Prophet grew more dim and worrisome.

And yet, Harry found himself hung up on this lesson. It was causing him to miss Quidditch after all, and in his opinion, if he was going to miss tryouts for anything it would be to help Dumbledore not be stuffed into an office with Hargreaves.

Thankfully Angelina Johnson had taken the news well when he met with her earlier that week. Though, her eye had developed a stubborn twitch as he explained his dismal situation. There had been little sympathy in that facial spasm, but she wasn't about to lose her Seeker so an exception was made; he would just have to attend the Quidditch practice after his lessons; apparently the new practice regimen was going to be extra strict that year. Angelina had already begun spouting claims that she'd make Wood proud and win the Quidditch cup by doubling their practice time.

With private lessons every month and more time spent training on the pitch, it was a wonder if Harry would ever see Hermione and Ron again outside of classes. A surge of guilt clenched at his stomach. To think that he was missing Ron's Keeper tryout for this.

Harry nudged the door with his foot in frustration. He hadn't meant to kick it open, but that was exactly what happened. The door swung at a snail's pace, revealing the office he had been in so many times before.

His new teacher, dressed in her navy robes and pointy hat, was perched on a bench by the window, brow knitted as she gazed out as if lost in some incalculable problem.. She had not noticed Harry, and so, taking that opportunity to get a handle on his surrounding, he poked around. You never knew if you were going to accidentally bump into some cursed object or come face to face with a poisonous snake in a teacher's office, especially the Defense Against the Dark Arts

The office had loads of new magical trinkets and decorations covering its walls. With every new year, the furnishing changed yet the room's skeleton stayed all too familiar. It was unnerving; he had been attacked in this very space by a Death Eater, only months ago.

The images rushed into Harry's mind: Mad Eye's war-torn face, twisting and warping into that of Barty Crouch Jr. But as quickly as they came, Harry managed to swallow them back down where they lingered as a queasiness in his gut and made only worse by the heaps of multi-colored rugs that that covered the floors. The pattern of each one shifted and spun into themselves kaleidoscopically. As he watched them, his upset stomach gurgled up into his throat.

Set atop the rugs were exotic chairs and tables, carved and painted with colorful designs and lit by crystal chandeliers that covered the room in floating orbs of rainbow-like light. It was all so…colorful and was totally at odds with Hargreaves' usual terse nature.

Just about the only thing that felt in line with her demeanor, were the mirrors hung upon every space of wall that wasn't already occupied by a table, armoire or window. Big ones, small ones, ones as tall as the ceiling.

The corner of the room suddenly erupted into a squeaky bickering. It drew both Harry and Hargreaves attention to a trestle by the side wall. There sat a chess set. It was obviously wizard's chess, because the King and Queen of the scarlet pieces were arguing loudly with each other about the King's attire and how he thought it perfectly appropriate to wear his nightcap to battle. On the ivory side, the White Queen rubbed her temples as she lay, slumped against a rook.

Hargreaves flicked a spell at the set. They froze and slide across the board, where they fell in like in their proper square.

"Sit, Mr. Potter," she said, indicating a seat opposite her desk with a glance.

The carpets - patterns shifting as they were - gave him the unpleasant sensation of falling as he passed over them. He was relieved to sink into the sturdy chair, but relief quickly faded when he saw Hargreaves, watching him intently.

"So, Mr. Potter, it appears I finally have you all alone. What should I do? Curse you? Kidnap you away to the Dark Lord? So many tempting options," she said, the sarcasm dripping off her tongue.

Harry glared at her, feeling his cheeks warm. Then he shrugged. It was painful how silly it all sounded now.

"I think a good curse should do it," he said, letting a bit of cheek slip.

Hargreaves raised an eyebrow at that as if re-assessing him, after something she did not expect. And then she smiled. "Adequate," she inclined her head.

Harry thought he must have been hallucinating. Hargreaves? Smiling? Impossible.

But there it was right in front of him. Maybe, just maybe, they could even learn to get along.

The Dreamless Sleep potion had given Harry a weeks' worth of regular 15 year old boy sleep, minus the wet dreams. In that week, his brain seemed to finally return to good working order and he had been able to retrace his encounters with Hargreaves with a clear mind. If that night in the mirror of Ateli Kosmos and Dumbledore's insistence didn't persuade him, it had been Hermione's badgering on Hargreaves innocence. And Hermione had a way of convincing Harry of pretty much anything. It may take a while, but she had the patience to do it.

The smile lingered on Hargreaves' lips as she took the seat opposite Harry. "In these lessons I will teach you the fundamentals of speculomancy. It will be difficult, I assure you, and will require your undivided attention as inadequate as it may be." She sniffed and licked her lips. So much for 'getting along.' "Before we go forward, you must understand that speculomancy is an extremely volatile gift, which if blundered can lead to catastrophe."

Harry frowned at that. "Um, professor, what kind of catastrophes?" he asked.

Actually the question he really wanted to ask was about the catastrophe Hargreaves had created by sending those letters to every paper in Europe. It had been on his mind for the better part of the week, sharing space with his guilt for breaking his promise to Ron. But he didn't ask the question for several reason. The main one being that he severely doubted she would answer it. And also he didn't really want to spoil this 'new beginnings' lesson with Hargreaves.

"Mirrors are powerful objects as you may have discovered," Hargreaves said, "So much so that there is even still a very real superstition surrounding them in the muggle world. You may have heard of the most famous one, that is, if you shatter a mirror you will have seven years bad luck."

"Er," Harry tried to recall. The Dursleys had never been superstitious, in fact they seemed to detest the idea.

"The superstition comes from a very real danger when using magic mirrors. If your reflection stands in one as it shatters, you lose something of yourself. And it is more than just your reflection that is stolen away by the mirror. Some believe it also steals away the soul." Hargreaves informed him.

"Your soul?" he whispered, remembering the Dementors, remembering how they performed the Kiss of Death on Sirius (only to fail). And a violent shiver rummaged down his spine. "That doesn't happen with all mirrors? It can't."

"True. Only magic mirrors have the power to capture a soul. But even the most normal mirror will make a muggle or magic folk incurably clumsy for a time. I have a theory about that. I believe it damages the soul in some form, but nothing a few years can't heal. However, should you stand in a magic mirror as it shatters, there is no coming back from that. There is nothing left to heal. Speculomancers - seeing as the very nature of mirror magic is volatile - often suffer such a thing."

With that horrifying notion out on the table, she pulled out a stack of three colossal leather-bound books from her bag and thumped them onto the table. "Which is why you need to be prepared. For if you prepare, you might survive."

She slid the stack towards Harry. "First you are to study these," she finished.

"What?!" he argued before he could stop himself. They were massive. She was asking him to read dictionary sized books atop of his regular studies? Even Snape wouldn't be so cruel. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration. Harry didn't know what cruelties Snape was capable of, but he now knew what Hargreaves was.

Professor Hargreaves ignored him.

"You will read over the first chapter of Beyond the Mirror now. You will need to know the Oscailte charm before we continue. Though I expect you to finish it by our next meeting," she said, tapping, of course, the fattest tome with a ringed finger.

Harry grimaced. It was hard to believe that Hargreaves wasn't finding some sadistic pleasure in this.

Stifling the urge to argue further, Harry pulled the top book from the stack, which banged onto the desk. Dust puffed up and Harry read the title emblazoned in silvery blue font, Beyond the Mirror by Derikk Glasswater. Derikk Glasswater.

Harry looked up from the cover. "He was who you sent the letter too."

"It was."

"Then he's a speculomancer too…"

"He is," said Hargreaves then she patted the book in a condescending manner. "Read."

"How many of us are out there?" asked Harry, ignoring this. It felt odd to put himself into the same category as Hargreaves. "Are there really only five?"

Hargreaves seemed to have no intention of carrying on this conversation, for she opened up the book for him. "Read, Mr. Potter. I only have so much time in these lessons to prepare you.

Rolling his eyes, Harry leaned over the page and read the short preface-

It is my dearest wish that this instruction manual to the arcane art of speculomancy falls into the ownership of the next generation. That you may find our Kingdom and restore our kind to its former glory. Not to take up where our ancestors left off but to begin a new era of exploration for Aperion-

"Start at chapter 1," interjected Hargreaves, looking irritated that Harry had started at the preface. "Glasswater has some very foolish notions. There is little need to read of them."

"Aperion? What does he mean?" Harry frowned over at Hargreaves.

She sighed as one might after a child has just asked how babies are made and that there was little use postponing the topic.

"It's a fantasy. Derikk has yet to see that though. He believes there is a lost speculomancer kingdom complete with a castle that is every speculomancers birthright," said Hargreaves with an air of overdone skepticism. "Now read."

"But professor," halted Harry.

"Read." Hargreaves shoved the book closer to him.

Harry huffed but otherwise continued.

Here we are. You have opened up my book and taken the plunge into an art that's spells and enchantments have caused the rise and fall of many great civilization since the dawn of magic, changing the world time and time again.

There are three spells that constitute the foundation of speculomancy. Two of which will be discussed later in this text. But for now, we will begin with the Oscailte charm.

It is as much a spell as a dialogue between the speculomancer and the mirror-

"Are you finished, Mr. Potter," said Hargreaves impatiently.

"I'm only on the third paragraph," admitted Harry, embarrassed that he read so slowly.

The Dursley's had never given him a book to read in his life, which had severely stunted his reading level. It was one of the reasons he was so dreadful at potions with its lengthy text but succeeded in Defense Against the Dark Arts which was primarily hands on. He had always admired Hermione for her ability to finish great hulking books in less than a day, but it was just something he struggled to do.

Hargreaves frowned at him in a disapproving manner.

Harry continued to read, though he could feel Hargreaves eyes on him, which made it even more difficult. After five minutes, and only making it to the end of the first page, Hargreaves stopped him.

"Dumbledore told me you are a more… practical wizard. Is this true?" she asked.

Harry flushed, but he nodded.

"I dared not believe it," she said insufferably. "I suppose, a more practical lesson it will have to be then. Up, Mr. Potter."

Brushing aside the vivid image of strangling her, Harry stood up. At least he didn't have to keep reading.

She led him into a partitioned alcove, where an oval mirror hovered up against the wall.

"Malik," she beckoned.

The man in the golden mask promptly drifted into his frame.

"You called, Mistress."

"Come, join us in the main office."

Malik nodded and his frame glided along with them as they returned to the office and stopped at a mirror by the window. It seemed to be a regular mirror. No ornate frame or not-so-solid glass.

"It is one of Glasswater's make," she told Harry as she extended her vine wand so that the tip touched the glass. "Oscail."

The harsh whispered spell caused the mirror to hum with magic. Faster and faster it vibrated, humming. Harry's reflection blurred as the glass shook. And then the humming became faint, and the vibration slowed so that, the once solid glass, oscillated like waves on a disturbed pool of water.

The tip of Hargreaves wand dipped into it, and the waves calmed and parted.

"Dunta," she cast again, and the mirror crinkled as it stiffened and regained its rigidness.

"Any witch or wizard with a wand can enter an active magic mirror made in this century," Hargreaves informed him. "It is mirrors from the age of Aperion, such as the mirror of Ateli Kosmos, that are subject to different laws. For reasons unknown, only a speculomancer can pass through one after it is activated with Oscail."

"You just said Aperion wasn't real..."

"It's not," she said flatly, "but speculomancers have largely been responsible for the scientific classifications for mirrors. It is similar to how the muggles keep naming newly discovered planets and their moons after ancient gods. They do not actually believe these gods exist, but it is a tribute to the myths. The Age of Aperion is really just a way of saying, before recorded history, and largely refers to mirrors that can access the mirror realms."

Harry's eyebrows raised at the name, the mirror realms.

Hargreaves took notice and added, "I have given you enough to think on for the moment. I do not want you distracted for the task ahead."

"Which is…?"

Hargreaves moved on from Glasswater's magic mirror and came to an armoire shackled shut by several draping metal chains. Hargreaves inserted a key into the padlock that held them together and with a click they fell to the floor with a clatter.

"The world is changing quickly, Mr. Potter. And I do not have the time for you to take the leisurely route in your learnings," she admitted. "If practical is what you need, then your practical lesson starts here."

Hargreaves pulled open the armoire double doors and let them bang against the sides.

Inside was a stunning mirror of the same tarnished bronze that the Mirror of Ateli Kosmos was made of, but the interwoven knot-work was of a harsher nature, diamond-like.

"The Mirror of Oikos," she said before turning to him. "Cast oscail directly at it. Go on, we do not have all evening."

"You want me to do what? Professor," Harry blurted, "you just said they could shatter if I get it wrong! And I haven't even finished the first chapter yet."

Hargreaves weighed that. "This is true, but you cannot let fear stop you. Knowledge can only bring you so far in speculomancy. It is a magic based in intuition. Trust that the mirror will open for you, and it will."

Harry swallowed hard. Then, with a unsteady hand, he leveled his wand at the Mirror of Oikos.

With the daunting task of opening a mirror that could steal his soul should he break it, Harry only vaguely noticed Hargreaves gesture to Malik.

Wiping sweat from his forehead, Harry stepped forward so that his wand made contact with a click. Then he closed his eyes, more out of prayer than focus.

"Oscail," he muttered weakly.

When Harry opened his eyes, he was disappointed to find the mirror was still solid. Yet relieved that it was still intact.

"Confidence, Mr. Potter."

"Oscail," he recited again, with more 'confidence.'

The mirror did not respond with even the slightest wobble.

"Perhaps you need another demonstration, Mr. Potter," reprimanded Hargreaves as she swept past him. Standing in the mirror, she spoke, "Oscail."

It hummed and liquified.

She turned to Malik. "Close the mirror after," she said and then gave Harry a hard look. "Should he fail, come get me."

"As you wish, Mistress," Malik bowed.

Then she faced the mirror and stepped through.

It swallowed her whole, rippled from the disturbance, and then settled to a calm, before Malik outstretched his hands and the mirror solidified.

Frustrated that Hargreaves should leave him so suddenly with giving him only the slightest bit of advice - and deciding that Malik would likely be of no help - Harry gripped the hilt of his wand tighter and shut his eyes. He would do this on his own then. If the mirror opened to Hargreaves so easily, then it would open to Harry.

It will not shatter, he told himself. Please, don't shatter.

"Oscail," he said with a firmness he scarcely felt.

In the darkness of his sight, he heard a humming. Opening his eyes, Harry witnessed the mirror losing its shape and become like silvery water.

Harry nearly jumped with excitement. It didn't break!

He waited there for a moment, expecting Hargreaves to come back through and to hopefully congrate him, but she never came. That was when Malik turned to Harry.

"You are to follow." He gestured to the mirror.

"Oh, uh," said Harry clumsily, taken off guard that Malik had spoken to him. "Right then."

Screwing up his face, Harry stepped up to the glass. He let out a breat before he took the plunge. The tip of Harry's nose was the first thing to sink into its surface, next his arm, and then everything else.

The familiar icy chill cut him to the marrow, though he noted vaguely that it was not as cold as when he went into the Mirror of Ateli Kosmos.

But unlike the mist and darkness that had been inside that mirror, the Mirror of Oikos brought him to a land of twilight that seemed to have no beginning or end. It was gorgeous. Spectacular blends of violet and cobalt and baby blues all bleeding into one another to forge all the colors in between.

Harry gave a start when he finally looked down. With no mist hiding his feet, Harry saw what he was standing on...thought it would be more accurate to say Harry saw what he was not standing on, because the was no floor. It seemed to go on forever downward, a never-ending twilight sky. It was as if he were trapped in between two domes of sky, one above and one below, with no horizon to speak of, boundless in every direction he looked.

Hogwarts had taught him some of the weird and awe-striking magics of the wizarding world, but nothing could have quite prepared him for this.

"Adequate, Mr. Potter," said Hargreaves from up ahead. She too was standing on thin air. "Welcome back to the mirror realm."


	12. A Realm for a Mirror

"It's different," observed Harry.

He had expected the same pitch blackness with its river of mist, coming through the mirror. What he had not expected was a eyeful of the most stunning vista he had ever seen. It was an infinite sunset, as if the moment just after the sun past beyond the horizon had been frozen in time. It was like a breezy summer night in Private Drive, up on the hill he so often slept under to get a moment's peace from his Aunt and Uncle.

This place. He couldn't explain it, not in words, only that he felt at ease here.

"Very perceptive of you, Mr. Potter," nodded Hargreaves as if he were a chimp that had finally been able to identify a banana. Just like that, any feelings of calmness evaporated. "It is different because it is not the same."

Harry felt his eye twitch. He decided in that moment that it was impossible for Hargreaves to be anything other than either bitingly sarcastic or downright rude.

"I can see that, professor. But why is it different?"

She gave him a bemused look before turning to stride away, across thin air.

Harry clambered to catch up. It made his stomach jump, walking on seemingly nothing at all. At any moment he feared his next step would be his last, and he would just fall out of the sky, tumbling through the endless space below.

"To put it plainly," Hargreaves walked on, and, despite her speed, no wind blew at her blonde hair. "this place is one of many small pockets of reality called a mirror realm. There are seven known mirror realms to be exact. In recent millennia, most speculomancers only manage to see to one of them. You should count yourself lucky - you have now been to two of them." She inclined her head towards him. "Now this is about to get complicated for you, Mr. Potter, so do make pains to keep up."

Harry was surprised to find that the not so subtle insult had glanced off him this time. Perhaps he was getting used to being around Hargreaves. Yes. Getting used to. Like when Fred and George used the Feotorius jinx on Ron's room. It took him so long to figure out where the smell of stinky socks was coming from that one day he gave up and learned to live with it. Fred and George only recently disarmed the spell, but Ron's nose never recovered. He still thinks peppermint smells like dog food.

"For reasons unknown, the Ancients were able to craft mirrors with a very peculiar set of properties. The reason so few of our own kind have been to a mirror realm, is that the only passage to them is through a mirror from the Age of Aperion. As of today, seven of theses mirrors have been uncovered, each one linking to one of the seven realms. And they have found their way into either a collector's vault or into a speculomancer family whose ancestry stretches further back than any records. My family is such a one. I…" she hesitated. "inherited the Mirror of Oikos. With it I can access the mirror realm Oikos.

Hargreaves paused and glanced at Harry to see if he was following.

"With it you can access the mirror realm Oikos," Harry repeated back to her as a student might do when asked if they were paying attention.

"Adequate," she said and quickened her pace. "It is important for you to understand what exactly a mirror realm is. But to do that, you must have a grasp on the esoteric notions of interdimensional travel. In other words, you need to know what lies beyond your world."

She turned to look at Harry, as if expecting some reaction.

He gave it to her.

"Interdimensional what?" Harry couldn't help but chuckle. "You're not being serious…"

He thought Hargreaves was pulling his leg – another off-beat and dark joke of hers (now that he knew she did indeed of a sense of humor). Yet there was no sign of 'all in good fun' behind her eyes, eyes that were as hard as sapphires.

She wasn't joking.

"What? You mean there is another dimension out there?" rushed Harry nervously.

"Not just one, Mr. Potter, but seven of them, if we are including earth's," she said significantly. "The mirror realms act as a bridge to these other universes."

Harry felt his mind spin.

To think there were other worlds out there. Not just distant worlds that he would never reach, but real, travelled universes.

But hang on. How was he only just now hearing about their existence? If they did exist, wouldn't someone have said something. Wouldn't it have been in any one of the history books he had to suffer through in Professor Binns' class.

"We speculomancers of a private sort, and our research with the mirror realms are for our own personal cause. Other wizards cannot use them anyway, so why should we bother to tell them," she said as if reading Harry's mind. "And Beside, if we did tell the wizarding world, we known that people simply wouldn't be able to cope with the concept of other universes. The notion that their universe was not special but one of several others would haunt the public into psychosis."

"So," Harry said, beginning - though it was a struggle – to come to terms with the idea, "where does this one lead to then?"

"Oikos is a special realm among the seven. In that it is not a bridge to another dimension but one that leads back to earth's. In other worlds, it acts as a kind of feedback loop," she told him. "This has several advantages. For one…" Hargreaves paused. "Please tell me you are aware of how normal traveling mirrors work."

"Yeah, I am, professor," said Harry. "You need to link a traveling mirror to another one for it to work." He mentally thanked Hermione for explaining it to him before the start of the school year. He also gave himself a pat on the back for committing the rules to memory.

"Adequate. I was afraid I would have to teach you that as well." she said before continuing her lecture. "Traveling mirrors are similar in that way to the Floo Network. A link needs to be established for them to work. It is frustratingly limited, as it confines the traveler only to those fireplaces that have been linked to the network. Yet traveling mirrors are even worse, only allowing for the linking between two mirrors, thus a network is not possible. Now of course, you could disapparate, but if stealth is your goal then a deafening crack wherever you go is not remotely adequate. But," she emphasized, "when using the Oikos realm, we are not bound to these limitations. We do not need the link - any and all mirrors in earth's universe is a way back. Where you 'pop out' of depends on where you poke."

Harry stopped her, heart accelerating.

"Professor…would it be possible for a mirror like the one in my house at Private Drive to be broken into like this?"

Hargreaves frowned at him, yet took up his question, dipping her chin in thought.

"Glasswater was the speculomancer who applied the wards on your house. He seemed to think it was a great honor," she muttered to herself. "But no, it is highly unlikely. It would take a number of speculomancers to break through a ward, even when traveling from Oikos," she concluded and for whatever reason she sneered to herself.

Harry jumped at the weakness in her argument. "But Voldemort could, couldn't he? He's must be powerful enough now," he said, struggling to keep up with her long strides.

"Voldemort?" said Hargreaves sharply. "Last time I checked, the Dark Lord was not a speculomancer."

"But what about the Eldritch Arts! He can the steal bloodtraits," Harry pushed.

"Mr. Potter," Hargreaves snapped at him, "you do not give speculomancers enough credit. Besides, if one of the five speculomancers in the entirety of our universe were to go missing, I would know about it. And even if he was to somehow manage to obtain our trait, it would take a speculomancer even more powerful than the Dark Lord to break a ward cast by Glasswater." Then she added with a finality, "And you forget, the Mirror of Oikos is the only mirror in existence to access this this realm. Just as the mirror you followed me into a few night ago is the only one in known existence to open the way to Ateli Kosmos."

"But- but-" Harry struggled to think of another explanation.

"I do not have time for you to worry about potential impossibilities," she stopped and Harry realized his legs were burning from the 'ground' they had covered. "We are here."

Harry looked around. The place they stood now seemed visually identical to where they started.

Hargreaves produced a vial from her robes, containing a silvery liquid that sloshed angrily against the glass. Even after she held it steady, in front of Harry, the substance still thrashed as if it were alive.

Taking the vial without even thinking, Harry held it up and peered at it curiously. It was mesmerizing as it writhed in the delicate capsule.

"Quicksilver in its rawest form. Even before the recent thefts in England, it was extremely rare. It is now near impossible to find." she said grimly. "It's extreme magical properties make it quite poisonous so make sure not to get any on the skin. And do NOT spill a drop."

Harry nodded nervously, becoming painfully aware of his fingers and the precious liquid he held. They immediately went weak and twitchy, as if his own body was playing a practical joke on him.

"So what do you want me to do with it?"

"You will scatter its content in front of you," she instructed. "Go on, be quick."

"But you just said-"

"I know what I said, Mr. Potter."

With that, Harry unstopped the cork and threw its contents awkwardly, and being as careful as he could be. He expected the quicksilver to splatter on the same invisible floor that he stood on, but it splattered in midair and lingered as a silver thread in front of him, looking strikingly line unicorns blood.

"With your wand sheathed, you will repeat after me," ordered Hargreaves.

She held a wandless hand out to the sinew of silver.

"Droichea."

"Droichea," repeated Harry, feeling the strangeness on his tongue.

"There is little need to be afraid, Mr. Potter," said Hargreaves. She must have noticed Harry's wince as he had spoken the spell, despite not having a wand in his hand. "There is no mirror to shatter. Granted, Malik had been stabilizing the Mirror of Oikos for you. I couldn't have you shattering a priceless artefact like that. But be warned, Droichea is a much more difficult spell to perform than the Oscailte charm."

"You let me believe I could have shattered the Mirror of Oikos?" Harry said in outrage.

"Well of course, silly boy. You need to get comfortable with the idea. Malik is mine. He will not be there every time you need to go traveling through mirrors."

Harry narrowed his eyes at her before returning his attention to floating string of silver. "Where will it lead?" he asked.

"It will open the way back," she gestured for him to perform the spell.

Taking a breath for himself, Harry readied his wand.

"Droichea!"

Much like his first attempt with the Oscailte charm and the Mirror of Oikos, the quicksilver didn't even shudder. Again, he tried, and again he fail. For several minutes he tried back to back spells, each one of them ending in a great big nothing.

"Droichea!" Harry shouted for what felt like the millionth time.

Still nothing.

He was used to spells just working for him. Like the Patronus. Even though that hadn't work right away, at least wisps of silver vapor had trickled from his wand tip letting him know that he was on the right track. With this, it was much like he imagined one of those muggles who fancied themselves a wizard. They'd swish their plastic wands… and nothing would happen.

Out of the hundred tries, there was once though where he swore he saw the thread twitch and sizzle, but not much more.

Every time he tried again and failed, he sensed Hargreaves patience waning further, until he thought he could hear the rumble of the thundercloud that had etched itself on her brow.

"No. He is not ready. It's too difficult. Why I thought a fifth year of all people would be able," she ranted to thin air. It was rather unlike Hargreaves to rant to herself, though it was evidence of her frustration with him.

"No, I am ready, professor. I just need more time," said Harry, frustrated at himself and continuing to try again and again.

"Go on and open the way for us," drawled Hargreaves again to no one.

"…Um," Harry stopped mid cast and looking around for who she was talking to.

At that moment, Malik, wearing his golden mask, materialized into existence besides Hargreaves.

Harry jumped, frightened at this sudden arrival.

"At your command, Mistress."

And just like that the thread of quicksilver expanded, seeping outward. Mist gushed from it as the portal shuttered and writhed, until it snapped into formation as a rather thin rectangle. The mist stopped abruptly.

"Follow me, Mr. Potter." she commanded before she stepped through.

"Where will it take us?"

"You will see soon enough." said Hargreaves impatiently, before stepping through the gateway with Harry in tow.

As his foot entered the threshold, he was acquainted with the icy chill.

He then found himself shivering violently in a living room with burgundy paneling, rows of richly carved bookshelves, antique furniture and a stout fireplace. Hanging above the mantelpiece was a picture of an English gentleman with a bushy mustache and a long overbearing snout.

Harry blinked at the man's facial hair. He knew that mustache and those untrimmed eyebrows. They had been on the daily news countless times when Uncle Vernon had turned on the television. It was a painting of the Prime Minister of England.

Harry darted around, searching for Hargreaves. "That's… We're…?" he said, catching sight of her next to a mirror on the other side of the room. They must have been breaking several major muggle laws.

Hargreaves glanced at him from over her shoulder, grim. "Dumbledore has tasked me with fortifying several key politician's quarters, both muggle and non-muggle. That requires me to ward not only the Prime Minister's office but his home as well," Hargreaves curled her lip. "Dumbledore sees it necessary to take every precaution."

She passed her wand over the gilded mirror and muttered an incantation. In response, its reflection dimmed ever so slightly, and subtle blotches of frost formed on the mirror as if it were tarnish by time before vanishing.

"So you do think Voldemort's going to try and kill people using magic mirrors?" asked Harry, watching Hargreaves sigh before placing a ward on yet another mirror.

"It is foolish to think so. Speculomancers are the only magical beings who can link a mirror to another or break another speculomancers ward. Aside from Malik," she said.

"But what if a speculomancer changed sides!" fought Harry.

"Rarely does a speculomancer have a 'side,' Mr. Potter."

"But what if, professor?" Harry urged on.

"A speculomancer would never willing put themselves in the same company as the Dark Lord. During his first rise to power it was well-known that the Dark Lord was searching for a speculomancer. Back then, no one knew why he desired one of our kind so vehemently. It was only recently that Dumbledore and I discovered his downfall had been that very pursuit."

"What do you mean?" frowned Harry.

Hargreaves looked around the Prime Minister's living room. "It does not matter."

"You mean Voldemort knew I was a speculomancer?" said Harry, gooseflesh prickling his skin.

After a moment's hesitation, she admitted, "It is the assumption. Until recently we did not know why the Dark Lord chose you, a mere newborn."

"You mean my parents died, because Voldemort wanted me?" Harry gave a shuddering breath.

"And you stopped him," Hargreaves said, as if that gave any comfort.

Harry did not want to be in the Prime Minister's living room any longer.

Hargreaves seemed to notice this. "I'll need to ward the bathroom and then we will be going," she said before she took her leave from him, disappearing behind an entryway.

It left Harry in silence.

He could not help but think of his mother's scream as she ran to protect him. It was the only thing he could truly remember about his parents. A gift from a dementor.

A tear splashed on the crimson carpet below him. And then another.

He hugged himself, grasping at the back of his arms and squeezing. It was a silly thing, crouching in the Prime Minister's Livingroom, fat tears pooling at his chin. But he could not help crying for what he had lost. And why he had lost it.

"Mr. Potter," Hargreaves returned. She took a step back, not expecting him to be in the state he was.

Harry quickly stood and wiped away any residue from his cheeks. The result was a sleeve that felt like sandpaper on his raw skin.

"I'm ready," he stated, mustering as must dignity as he could.

"Malik has kept the way open for us," she gestured to the mirror, which was opaque and seemly just like any other normal mirror.

"Right then," Harry said.

Clenching his fists, he strode to the portal and passed through it into twilight. Hargreaves wasn't far behind.

From there, they walked side by side in Oikos, saying nothing to one another.

Finally, Hargreaves broke the silence.

"I'm sorry if I upset you," she paused as if searching for unfamiliar words. "I too am no stranger to loss." she hesitated, deciding to say no more on the subject.

Harry stayed silent, continuing to walk endlessly to the portal that led back to Hargreaves office.

"I-" added Hargreave, but fell silent once again.

"That will conclude our first lesson. For homework you will practice the Oscailte charm on your dorm room mirror," said Hargreaves. "Nothing will happen, but it is good to get familiar with it. I expect you to finish at least half of Glasswaters work by the time we meet again. That should be doable."

Hargreaves seemed to have almost reverted back to her cold, unyielding ways. Though Harry had to admit, half of that massive book was far less than what she had asked him the beginning of the lesson.

"I will," said Harry simply, feeling drained.

"Adequate. You may return to your dorm room."

Harry turned to leave, but surprisingly to, didn't feel like returning to the common room just yet.

"Professor, who was it that you lost?" Harry asked with the bluntness that only someone who knew true loss could manage.

Hargreaves considered him for a moment and shadow seemed to pass over her sharp features, and dark brooding clouds swept up behind her brilliantly blue eyes. There was a rage there that was very much still alive.

Harry knew that anger because he had felt it when he thought Sirius Black, his own godfather, had sold his parents out to Voldemort.

"My daughter," she said.

There came a sudden pecking at the window, causing the two of them to look.

Perched on the windowsill, was an owl with red feet - one of the fastest couriers at the owlery. Usually an owl would rapping on a window would have a letter with them or a light package, but this one one rather empty taloned. Harry recognized it right away as the owl he had sent out for Hargreaves with the letter to Glasswater.

The bird continued to tap until Hargreaves opened the window for him. The red footed owl swoop in, but stayed on the sill and eerily shook its head at her from side to side as owls do.

"Is something wrong professor?" asked Harry, noticing that Hargreaves had gone still.

"Something is very wrong, Mr. Potter. The owl could not find Derikk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes:
> 
> So the cover picture recently got a graphics update. Its used to be just a black symbol on a white background but now has a bit more spunk to it, being weathered and a bit more unique. I feel like Photoshop is one of those skills that all internet mongers learn at some point. The symbol has not changed and is still the alchemical sigil for mercury, also known as quicksilver. Side note: the Roman god, Mercury, was known as the patron of travelers and was tasked with ferrying the dead beyond the veil. 
> 
> Also you probably noticed a stark contrast between the two languages used in this chapter. One of them is found with the mirrors from the Age of Aperion, Oikos and Ateli Kosmos. Both are Greek. The mirrors were named this by adept speculomancer because they theorized that the beginnings of speculomancy dated further back than even that of Roman times. Instead being somewhere a few hundred years before the Greek Golden Age. Much like Hargreaves said, modern scholars began to name and categorize ancient mirrors so that they reflected their romantic view of the Ancients. Because it was in Ancient Greece that the first mentions of the mythical speculomancer city - in Plato's works.
> 
> The Greek names for the mirrors and realms are at odds with the verbal spells of speculomancy, which are spoken, not in Latin or Ancient Greek, but Gaelic. I won't ruin the surprise yet. You'll find out in the next several chapters.


	13. Escalating Encounters

"I must be leaving," Hargreaves said as she hurried behind Malik's divider.

"You're going to try and find him?" Harry called after her. "But we've got classes tomorrow."

Hargreaves, coming back out of Malik's alcove, cocked her eyebrow at Harry. "You suddenly care for my class, Mr. Potter?"

"I- I've always liked Defense," Harry muttered off to the side.

"When there are only five of your kind, you learn to keep tabs on one another," said Hargreaves. "Also he's my uncle, so we are familialy bound, I suppose."

Hargreaves directed her wand in three directions: once behind her to her bunny who hoped into his cage, once to the side where a small wooden alchemy box sprang to life from beneath a side table and landed on her desk, and lastly past her feet to floors below her.

She then addressed Harry. "I should be back within the next few weeks. Professor Snape should agree to taking over Defense Against the Dark Art until I return. He's the only teacher in this school who knows a damn about the Dark Arts."

Harry gave a nervous nod.

There came a bang from the front door as a trunk threw it open before rushing in. Then it slowed to a leisurely pace before floating to a stop beside its enchanter.

"That will be all," she added as she came to the Mirror of Oikos.

"Wait, professor-" Harry hesitated at the door knob.

"There is always one more question with you," Hargreaves shook her head, but Harry could swear he saw the corner of her mouth twitch. "Make it quick."

"It's about the stolen grimoires. Why did you go to the papers?" Harry couldn't help himself. "Didn't you know everyone'd be furious at the ministry?" He'd been holding in that question in all lesson and to finally release it, didn't make him feel any less anxious.

"As I believe I've mentioned, Mr. Potter, I have certain obligations to Albus," she told him icily. Then she sneered into the mirror. "And I do it even if he does not always inform me of why."

Harry frowned at her. "What does that mean?" he asked, unnerved.

"Within the next few weeks, Mr. Potter," she ignored the question. "Oscail."

The mirror shivered before she stepped through and it enveloped her.

/0\

The bell above Harry chimed as he opened the door to Quality Quidditch Supplies. Upon these shelves somewhere, was a bottle of polish that had his name on it. What made things more difficult was that those same shelves were bewitched to rearrange themselves every month or so.

Harry eyed the shelf it was usually on and lightly sighed to the side. Powell's Premier Broom Polish wasn't there.

Harry took to wandering the aisles. He did not mind. At least he could browse the newest items in his search.

One display in particular drew him over with headlines like, 'Endorsed by the Chudley Cannon Quidditch team,' and, 'All the Professionals are doing it!"

He strolled over to the wooden sign and looked down at the display. Small sticks lined the table. Curious, Harry picked one up and read the label.

"The Mogey Stick. Tired of distracting bruises on your bum during or after a long game? Use the Mogey Stick and stay aloft for days with no pain, and that's a promise! To properly apply, pull out your trusty Mogey Stick and insert it between your-"

Harry stopped reading and quickly returned the stick to the table. He then proceeded to wipe his hand on his shirt and back away from the Mogey Stick display.

As he continued on, Harry passed the counter and noticed a sign sitting there. It read, 'gone to the Three Broom StickS. Will return sometime. If not, leave coin on the counter.'

It wasn't odd for Mr. Dirgeworth to leave his store abandoned while he indulged a few shots of fire whiskey. The old shopkeeper had a taste for the stuff Harry would never understand.

Harry continued searching, extensively, until he came upon a set of Giant Elk skin gloves for Keepers. Deciding it would be a great present for Ron, and a good apology for missing his tryouts, Harry took a pair from the shelf and examined their stitching.

It was a fine distraction what with the questions that barraged him since his lesson with Hargreaves. Why hadn't the Headmaster kept to his promise and given his speech to the wizarding world, ending the riots yet? What did Hargreaves mean by her 'obligation?' Why did that have anything to do with her going to the press with classified information that was bound to cause upheaval?

Then there was Glasswater. Why hadn't he been found by one of Hogwarts best owls? Could Voldemort have gotten to him? He was thankful he had the Sleep Potion because these questions alone were enough to keep him tossing at night.

Harry drew his thoughts back to the gloves. The stitch-work was fine quality and well worth ten sickles. Loose stitching could break with the slightest tug.

The bell above the door chimed as someone entered the shop.

Harry only vaguely noticed it, seeing as he had exhausted all the front shelves and had now found himself intently perusing the musty ones in the back of the store. It was like a maze with bookcase-like displays all scattered about at odd angles.

The bell chimed two more times.

Familiar voices carried to the back where Harry stood. The way the ceiling was angled upwards, much of what was being said in the front was heard loud and clear in the back. Even whispers.

"I saw him come in 'ere" muttered an unmistakable, trollish voice.

"Well I didn't see him," a boy said disdainfully. "You sure you're not going blind, Goyle? I do recall you wearing glasses once. Wonder where they went off to."

"Don' you git smart with him. Don' forget my da's callin' the shots now."

That was Crabbe's voice, though it seemed less stupid than it used to. Like he had just gained a certain level of control over his blundering self.

Squeezing the gloves tight, Harry crouched in the stacks, not wanting to be seen. It was no mystery who they were looking for.

Even from here Harry could tell Draco had gone livid. "Your father, Crabbe, couldn't find his own ass even with the Revelio charm. Good much power will do to an oaf like that."

There was a crash from the front. Harry peered out to see Crabbe pinning Malfoy against a collection of posters, his forearm pressed against the softness of the blonde boy's neck.

"How dare you talk 'bout my da' like that," spat Crabbe. "He's got the Dark Lord's ear. Lucius had his shot. Now unless you want your father on the other end of the killin' curse, you'll do wha' I say."

Something had truly gone wrong with the world if Crabbe was now threatening Draco, Harry decided. The Daily Prophet had said that Lucius Malfoy was missing and had most likely fled the country. They must have been wrong.

"Now, go and find him," he hissed into Draco's ear, words that also carried perfectly to Harry's. "and when you do… well you know what to do next."

Draco stared back at him, mouth twisted in anger. Then Crabbe released him and Draco dropped to the floor, wheezing.

Crabbe jerked his head towards Goyle - who looked a bit awkward at Crabbe's show of strength - insinuating it was time to leave.

"What, you're too scared to look for him yourselves?" Draco managed to sneer at them through great coughs.

"We think you got it," said Crabbe, smirking. "After all, who best to find the great Boy Who Knows than the Boy Whose Got Nothing Left To Lose." Crabbe snickered.

The bell chimed and the door shut.

Malfoy stood up straight, brushed himself off with dignity and stared straight ahead, collecting himself, eyes puffy and red - probably from being choked.

Whatever Crabbe had in mind for Harry, he wasn't going to wait and find out.

Harry took out his wand and crouched to a near crawl. Perhaps if he could skirt around the side wall, he could make a break for the front door…which was surely being guarded by Crabbe and Goyle.

Harry quickly decided against that idea.

"Where are you, Potter," muttered Draco.

The fine hairs on Harry's neck, prickled. The angled ceilings made it difficult to know where exactly the Slytherin's voice was coming from.

"If you're even in here," he added miserably.

As Harry was scooting past the counter, trying to keep as much distance between himself and where he though Draco might be, he noticed a familiar bottle. He had found his polish. It just was at the worst possible time.

He glanced around to see if the coast was clear, before reaching into his robes, gathering two sickles for the polish and ten for the gloves and placing them gently on the countertop. Then he pocketed one of the bottles.

So that just left his escape then.

Harry recalled that Mr. Dirgeworth rarely used the front entrance when slipping out to the Three Broom Sticks. Didn't that mean there had to be a back entrance somewhere? There was no supply room behind the counter, nor where he had just come from. That just left the back room, where all the Quidditch toys for purchase were displayed. Getting there was going to be tricky with countless crooked aisles to navigate.

Seeing it as his best and only option, Harry put one foot in front of the other. Accompanying those footsteps, were a pair that were not his. And if he could trust his own ears in this shop, they were just behind him.

Quicker her moved, until found the three steps that led through a narrow hallway to the back room. Draco's footsteps muffled as Harry took the hallway. A different noise began to awaken as he reached the back room.

When Harry finally turned the bend, he saw what it was. Dozens of tiny Quidditch player figurines were all shouting and whooping and performing their copyrighted victory poses atop their displays.

Beyond them was a door. He would have to traverse a maze of little people and their awkwardly placed tabled to get there, but it was a way out.

But as he hurried to the exit, one of the figurines spotted him from his display and hollered at Harry. He couldn't believe how much noise one tiny little things could make. Nor could he believe what several dozen could do to his eardrums. But that was exactly what happened.

One by one, each display caught on and began blasting their individual teams anthem.

"Shhh!" Harry held up his palms.

Miraculously they stowed their victory fist pumps, shut up and looked at him like deer in headlights as if no one had ever addressed these little people before.

"Sorry, I just really need you all to be quite. Just for a few minutes," he whispered.

They seemed to listen to him. That was until a red-haired man with a brilliant yellow Quidditch uniform, smiled a great big smile. Others saw the figurine and they too began to grin unnervingly as if they understood something Harry didn't.

For no logical reason, the red-haired figurine began whooping louder than he ever had. And to Harry's bewilderment, the entire room erupted into a chorus of shouts and hollers.

"No!" Harry hissed.

Swiping up the red-haired figurine, Harry tried to wrestle its mouth shut.

"Hey!" said Draco nervously from the main room. "Potter, is that you?"

Harry tossed the figurine back onto his table and dashed over the table and to the back door.

He didn't get very far.

A jinx cracked against his calves. Mere moments later, rope unraveled from thin air and swept around his ankles until he could not even budge them.

The toys fell silent as Harry hit the ground, hard. With the force of the impact, he wand ripped from his hand and flew under a nearby display table.

"Did you think I wouldn't find you, Potter" Draco strolled in behind him, lazily moving the table in his way with a flick of his wrist.

"Sorry for thinking you and Crabbe's father had something in common," jabbed Harry. "Not being able to find your own ass and all."

Malfoy reddened, and Harry pulled at the rope that bound both legs. If he could just keep Draco distracted, maybe Harry could reach his wand.

"What happened to your dad?" said Harry savagely. "I thought he was in hiding. It's good to know he's back with his master."

"Shut up, Potter!" hissed Draco. "You think you know anything?"

"Yeah, bunch of people say I do. They call me the Boy Who Knows now, did you hear?" laughed Harry mirthlessly as he inched towards where his wand had fallen.

Malfoy jeered before honing on something behind Harry.

Then Malfoy brushed past him and picked up something off the ground.

Harry cursed, thinking that Malfoy was going to take away his only means of escape – his wand. But it was not the wand that Malfoy plucked from the shop floor. It was the bottle of broom polish that had fallen out of his pocket.

"For a celebrity all tied up and at wand point-" he tossed the bottle into the air and caught it. "You ought to be scared, Potter."

"Oh I should be cowering in fear, should I? I've fought Voldemort. You think I'm scared of you? You don't know me very well, Malfoy," said Harry, using his hands to scoot over to the display.

"Oh I know you. Harry Potter. Loved by the world. Wanted dead by the Dark Lord," said Draco as he stared at the polish, though he was not reading a word on it. "Oh he doesn't care who kills you now. Just anyone faithful to him will do. He's made it clear that the person who brings your body in will be rewarded beyond their wildest dreams."

"So this is all about power then? You're going to kill me so that your father will be in Voldemort's good graces again-."

"It's more than that," growled Draco, almost defensively.

"You're as selfish as always Malfoy,' glared Harry.

Malfoy shuddered. "If it means my family survives this war-"

Harry frowned at Draco. Something had happened with Lucius and Voldemort, something that had Draco scared.

"What about Goyle and Crabbe, you really think they won't want that reward to themselves."

Draco seemed to have regained his usual haughtiness, because he began tossing the polish up and down playfully.

"Goyle is loyal, but not very bright, Potter," he said. The growled the rest, "Crabbe though-"

Draco let go of the troubling idea and tossed the bottle of polish high into the air. Upon its descent, it vanished like some party trick.

He then crouched to get a look at Harry.

"Doesn't matter for you. Your times almost up," he said.

Harry leaned in to meet Draco's sunken eyes. "Do you really think Voldemort will be true to his word. He'll reward you, sure. But do you think you can please a creature like that forever?" asked Harry, his frustration boiling into his words. "He's not human anymore, Malfoy."

Draco's looked down at the robe that bound his captive and gave a pained smile. Then he dropped something at Harry's feet.

It was the polish.

"Your right, Potter. But," he said, standing and turning back to Harry, "the ministry is on the brink of collapsing as we speak. Who's going to seize control when it does?"

Harry clawed his hands into the carpet and pulled himself backward toward his wand, that was until he realized that Draco was leaving.

Frowning, Harry called after him, "So that's it then."

"No, Potter. I think it's only the beginning."

There was a faint chime as Draco left Quality Quidditch Supplies.

He had found his wand. Using it to snap the rope, Harry climbed to standing and retrieved Powell's Premier Broom Polish.

Harry squinted at it, a bit confused, but grabbed it nonetheless and ran to the front of the store, where he cautiously peered out the front door to make sure he wasn't being ambushed

But when he stepped out to the streets of Hogsmeade, brisk September air tingling his nose, there were no Slytherin's in sight.

/0\

"Uh, you alright?" Ron asked Harry, who was sitting on the locker room bench and staring absently at his Firebolt.

Harry gave a start. "Yeah. Sorry just lots on my mind," he confessed.

Where could he start. Dumbledore, Hargreaves. Glasswater. Draco. Draco. Harry couldn't help but feel a tinge of sympathy for the Slytherin. Everyone thought that Lucius had fled the country. But after what he heard last weekend, Harry wasn't too sure about that. If Crabbe could leverage Lucius' life over Draco, that meant Lucius must be in the country. And something had gone sour between him and Voldemort. So much so that Draco was being pushed around to kill Harry.

It made little sense to Harry, why he should feel an ounce of understanding for the same enemy of his who seemed to dedicate his life to making Harry miserable. But it seemed, even Draco - no matter how much he hated Harry - would not kill him.

Harry had been on the verge of telling Ron and Hermione several times, but for whatever reason, didn't.

"Right," said Ron returning to a half unlaced shoe. "Well we best stay focused. Remember, Montegue's left side is weaker than his right, so he'll be coming in hard at the right ring."

Ron occasionally gave Harry Quidditch pointers that would likely never use, though he supposed he could have used a bit of focus.

"Ron?" said Harry, holding up his Firebolt for him to see up close. "Does anything look off to you?"

"Um...like what?" said Ron vaguely as he slipped off his shoe. Then he turned to the Firebolt in Harry's hands. "What happened to you broom, Harry?" gawked Ron.

"That's just it. I don't know," Harry lowered the sickly thing so it lay in his lap. Even its twigs wilted toward the floor like a bouquet of spoiled flowers. "You don't think brooms can get sick, do you?"

"Cleansweeps, sure. But not a Firebolt," Ron said, flustered. "There are nearly a hundred powerful charms protecting it from that sort of thing."

That didn't make Harry feel any better. He was now looking at an ill broom, far from any diagnoses.

"I hope it makes it through the match" Harry said in a small voice.

Ron rubbed at the freckles on his neck. "Yeah. I'm sure it will," he tried to convince him. "Bloody hell, Harry, it's a Firebolt. Nearly a hundred charms, remember. Mines only got 'bout a dozen." Ron screwed up his mouth as he glanced at his Cleansweep.

Dean peeked out from behind the door of his locker, saw the pale Firebolt and made a fleeting oh face.

Dean was a stand in that match for Alicia Spinet, who would be spending the night in Saint Mungos taking care of her father after he had gotten a head injury from a furious rioter who knocked his head in with a bewitched stone. Katie Bell on the other hand hadn't shown up for Quidditch tryouts. Nor for her classes at Hogwarts. Her spot had been filled by the newest addition to the team, a fourth-year boy named Gerald who reminded Harry of a good natured golden retriever.

"How's Alicia father?" interjected Fred from across the locker room. Up until then, they both had been laughing uncontrollably; Fred and George had been sending jinxes through the vents that connected the girls locker room to theirs. At one point Harry had heard Angelina's distant voice arguing loudly about a missing sock and having sworn it had been on the bench a moment ago.

"She's going to spend another night there," said Dean. "And won't be back till Monday."

"Must be a bad concussion then," voiced Ron retreating into his own thought. Angelina's father was a ministry worker just like his dad.

The twins exchanged uncharacteristic sobering looks. But the next moment, they were chuckling their way to the door, fully dressed, and each with a handful of slugs.

"A present for the Slytherin house." George whispered conspiratorially to Harry before they made their exit.

"Any good news from the ministry?" Dean asked Ron.

Ron stared through the floor. "It just keeps getting worse actually. Dad's still putting out fires. And I mean that literally. My Uncle Renly was caught yesterday using the Incendio charm to set fire to every phone booth in London. My own blood, and he's gone mental."

Harry felt like he should say something. These riots had been really troubling Ron, and Harry would often come into the common room towards the end of the night, and see Ron, Fred, George and Ginny, talking to Mr. Weasley through the fireplace. The news he brought was rarely good, but he tried to be lighthearted about it.

"You don't have to worry," Harry told him. "The riots are going to end soon."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," said Ron skeptically as he unzipped his pants and tossed them onto the bench.

"Dumbledore is giving a speech at the ministry," rushed Harry. He wasn't entirely sure if Dumbledore and the minister's meeting was classified, but as long as the Headmaster hadn't said it outright, he assumed he could at least tell Ron… and Dean.

"Huh," Dean said, having stripped off his underwear at that point. "I hope he does it soon."

Harry hoped so too. What was taking Dumbledore so long? Hargreaves had him thinking that this was all some sort of elaborate plot by the Headmaster. He wished he could just ask the Headmaster, but he was likely to give him some half answer before changing the subject.

"You think it will help?" said Ron, who stopped changing and looked hopeful, painfully so.

Harry tugged off his shirt and placed it on the bench."The minister seemed to think so. He and Dumbledore made some kind pact… An Unbreakable promise or something like that."

Ron's hope had turned to confusion.

"Dumbledore made an Unbreakable Vow... with Destaunt?" said Ron, with a hint of disbelief. "You know you can't break an Unbreakable Vow, right?"

"Worked that much out for myself, thanks," Harry said sarcastically. Then he unbuttoned his pants and dropped them to the floor.

Ron gave Harry a significant look before he said, "If you do, you pay the 'ultimate price.'"

Harry, struggling to get one of his pant legs off, faltered. Death seemed a little excessive a price for breaking a promise.

"Is there something wrong with that?" asked Dean.

"I don't know yet. But I do know Hermione would want to hear about this," said Ron.

The door to the locker room suddenly banged open, and a girl, with maple skin, a double braid, and a dripping polywarg in her arms, sauntered in with a confidence that could scarcely be matched. You'd think she would have been embarrassed having just thrown herself into a men's locker room, filled with half naked boy.

Judging by Dean's look of cool amusement, you might think it was perfectly normal for girls to come barging into the boy's locker rooms all the time. Being fully naked as he was, made it all the stranger.

Harry, on the other hand, instinctively reached for the nearest item of clothing and ended up trying to cover himself with two socks. He was painfully aware of his bare chest and lanky legs that were only now regaining some of the muscle they had lost over the summer.

Elena glanced at Dean, perked a lazy eyebrow as if it were nothing she hadn't seen before, and came up to Ron, who much like Harry was only wearing his underwear. She didn't seem to understand that there were certain spoken and unspoken rules between boys and girls.

"You can't go in there, Elena. It's against school ru-"

Hermione came rushing in, but came to an abrupt stop once she saw the two half naked boys and Dean, who still didn't even flinch at being walked in on.

Hermione looked a bit lost and her eyes wandered its way through the mess. From Dean, to Ron and then to Harry. Then to his chest, and his navel, and to his-

Great blotches of color rose into her cheeks.

Immediately she tore her wandering gaze away and began blinking furiously as if she had something stubborn in her eye.

Harry tried to hide his smile.

"Vat? I came to give Ron a kiss," shrugged Elena, "It es goodluck, you know."

"Goodluck or not, if McGonagall finds us back here, we'll both be in detention," Hermione said firmly, though she was still not looking at any of them.

"It es worth it, no?" shrugged Elena. "Beside do you really think I hev not already seen all of Ron?" She smiled at him devilishly.

Ron's ears bypassed pink and went straight to scarlet.

A third girl burst into the room, breathing heavily.

Upon seeing Ron, she said, "Gross!"

"Oy, can anyone just barge in here?" cried out Ron.

At Ginny's arrival, Dean's mouth open and closed wordlessly and, grabbing his sports underwear, he tugged them on with impressive speed.

"Come on, the match is about to start, and Neville's saving us a seat," said Ginny, plainly ignoring Dean.

"I vill be right there. But first," she came in a little closer to Ron, who couldn't help but gag as he took a step back.

"Why'd you bring that thing?" groaned Ron, glaring warily at the polywarg in her arms with a palpable look of disgust.

"Professor Hagrid said Lola needed attention, esn't thet right?" she addressed the polywarg before bringing it up and giving it a kiss on the snout.

"Ugh," Ron, Harry and Hermione said in unison. Dean and Ginny seemed to think it was funny somehow.

"You're not kissing me with those lips, you're not," Ron set straight.

Elena grinned at that, ignored his wished, and brushed her fingers around his waist until she hugged him intimately. "But vat if you did not vin because I couldn't give you a goodluck kiss. It would be putting the team at risk, no? Vat do they say? Be a team player?"

She grinned another devilish grin, one that melted any remaining resistance from Ron. And lowering his chin, he kissed her.

"A lucky kiss doesn't sound too bad at the moment," Dean smiled at Ginny, who put her hand on her hip and rolled her eyes. Yet Harry could help but notice that she was smirking.

Hermione, however, was doing anything but smiling. She even looked a bit lost, yet you could see wheels turning behind her chocolate eyes as she grapple with getting control over the situation

"We really should be going, Elena," she said firmly.

"Yes, I know." Elena's voice was breathy as she broke away from Ron's lips. "That vas enough luck for a match, anyway."

Ron shook his head and smiled into another kiss.

Finally Elena put a playful hand on his chest and pushed their lips apart. "Thet should do it."

"Alright, that should do it," said Ron vaguely as if it were his idea. he was clearly not entirely back down to earth yet.

Elena then strode over to Harry, who eyed her nervously, not entirely sure what she was about to do next.

"You're cheek, Harry Potter" she instructed him.

Not knowing what else to do, Harry turned his cheek, and awkwardly presented it to her. She then leaned in and gave him the briefest smooches just on his cheek bone. It wasn't anything more than what it was.

"Goodluck," she said.

Hermione stiffened. "Are you quite finished?" she said.

Elena grinned at Hermione.

"Wait Hermione, Harry has something to tell you really quick," Ron - still in Elena's arms - called after her.

Hermione turned back around, arms folded, and looking annoyed and expectant.

"I do?" said Harry.

Ron gave him a well of course sort of look. "Bout Dumbledore and the minister." he tried jogging Harry's memory. "Unbreakable Vows, remember?"

"Oh right," Harry shook his head as if trying to wrangle his thought back to reality. "Dumbledore made an Unbreakable Vow with Destaunt," he said, far too casually.

Hermione's arms fell to her side. "Why would he do something like that?" she inquired.

"The minister seemed to think that Dumbledore can stop the riots. Says he'll be giving a speech at the ministry soon," answered Ron.

Hermione considered this. "What were the terms of the vow, Harry?" she asked.

Elena starred at the proceedings with a deep interest. Dean returned to his locker and began putting on some clothes. Finally. And Ginny watched as Elena did.

"Can you remember the exact phrasing," added Hermione.

"Sure, I think I can. The minister asked Dumbledore to, 'stop the riots, no matter whatever it takes' and to 'assure the people that he was not to blamed for the thefts' of the grimoires. And then it sorta switched and Dumbledore wanted something in return. 'A favor, whatever it be,' I think he said."

Elena's eyebrows perked up. "Ve have similar bond magics back home," she mused. "My ancestors used them to trick vizards who hed wronged us. The minister should hev picked his vords more carefully."

Elena gave Ron another quick kiss before she joined Hermione, who nodded in agreement at Elena conclusion.

"Alright enough," said Ginny firmly. "It's time to go. Neville's not going to wait all day."

"Right," agreed Hermione, but she gave Ron and Harry a look that made it clear they were going to continue this conversation later when they all had a chance.

Hermione, Elena, and Ginny then left the half naked boys to get dressed for the big game.

Ron admired Elena as she went.

"Bloody hell," breathed Ron, then he shook his head. "I'm crazy for loving that girl, aren't I?"

Harry laughed. "Absolutely mental."

"Oh I forgot to ask you. How did your first lesson with Hargreaves go? Go through any magic mirrors again?"

"Yeah, actually." Harry gave a half laugh, still amazed at the possibilities of speculomancy. "Turns out you were right,"

"Right about what?" frowned Ron.

"There are mirrors that take you to strange places. I've gone through two now."

Ron's mouth fell open and after a moment said, "You're joking."

"I'm not," Harry could help but smile at Ron's reaction. "They're really rare mirrors, but Hargreaves has one. And they can leas to these bridge worlds that can go to other universes."

Harry described a bit more, how he thought the mirror realms worked, the different mirrors and the trouble he had with the spells Hargreaves had shown him.

"Harry," Ron reel, braking himself with his palms and leaning back to wonder at the idea. "how many of them are there?"

"What you mean universes?" asked Harry.

Ron nodded.

"Seven."

Ron pushed himself back up to eye Harry with a grin. "And you've been to one of them?"

"Not really," admitted Harry. "Hargreaves and I went through the Mirror of Oikos, but that just led back to earth."

"So let me get this straight, if the Mirror of Oikos leads to this bridge - the mirror realms - that goes straight back to earth, then where does the Mirror of Ateli Kosmos lead to?"

Harry had wondered that same thing. \

"One of the other six universes," he guessed.

Angelina interrupted with a knock on the door.

"We're ready-" she said. "You three better be dressed in there."

Harry realized he had still had quite a few more item of clothing he needed to put on for the match.

"Alright, 'nough about magic mirrors. Let's get dressed," said Ron, who had only managed to put on his trousers, and boots, but that was still further along than Harry.

Ironically, Dean was the first to have all of his clothes on.

Finally, when Harry ready, he gathered up his goggles and Firebolt. And he grimaced.

The usually sleek and polished Firebolt had gone a muddy shade of green.

Thinking there was little he could do for it now, Harry breathed and then left for the pitch.

With first-game-of-the-season nerves in high effect, half of the team went wordlessly as they walked through the underbelly of the stands. Of course Fred and George were lively, asking Angelina if she had found her other sock. She quickly connected the dots on that one.

Gerald Mariner, their new chaser, was also talking. More specifically he was talking at Dean, who was trying to ignore him so he could focus before his first-and-maybe-only match as a Gryffindor Chaser. From what Harry saw during the first couple practices, Gerald was a damn good Chaser, if not a tad over-confident, and was likeable.

Light steamed in from the gaping hole up ahead. The brilliance of the sun blinded Harry as he stepped out with his teammates.

The stands roared. It was a sea of Gryffindors, Slytherins, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs all jumping and shouting and waving painted sings, many of which had clever taunts scrawled across them. It reminded Harry a bit of the Quidditch figuring at Durgeworth's shop.

"Now that's a crowd," barked Gerald, with his wide smile.

"Yeah," Ron paled.

Harry tried to think of something comforting to say as they both stared out into the stands. That was until they both caught sight of a young girl in the Gryffindor section with a polywarg in her arms. She was lazily waving a homemade sign that said, "I wasn't joking about that kiss."

A bit of color blossomed back into Ron's freckled cheeks.

"What's that mean?" Gerald frowned up at her. Being so eager for his first match, Gerald had gotten dressed for the game an hour before anyone else and had taken to roaming the crowd before Angelina had to wrangle him back down for the ceremonial team entrance. Needless to say, he had missed Elena's grand entrance.

"That means Ron's a lucky man," Harry nudged Ron's arm with his elbow.

Romaji magic never ceased to surprise him.

"Couldn't agree more!" Gerald punch Ron playfully in the arm.

Both Ron and Harry looked at the Chaser, who was giving them a ridiculously broad grin.

Then Ron and Harry looked back at each other and laughed.

On the opposite side of the pitch, Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and the rest of the Slytherin team were led onto the grass by Montague, who had managed to leer at every individual Gryffindor on his way to the center of the pitch..

Malfoy watched Harry all the while, not taking his eyes off him. Neither did Crabbe or Goyle. It gave Harry an uneasy feeling, beyond just that of the pregame jitters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The romance between Hermione and Harry is just really beginning to flourish now. And the next two chapters will focus heavily on their relationship and their future together. I know its been a long time coming, but I really liked that in J.K. Rowling's, the Half Blood Prince, Harry and Ginny's romance is so very subtle, until the moment where they kiss.
> 
> Couldn't help myself with the Mogey Stick. It made me chuckle too hard to omit.
> 
> I was asked in a post, if Voldemort gained speculomancy through the blood Wormtail used to perform the ritual. I can't really give that away just yet. I can say that you are on the right track but that there is bit more to the ritual, the grimoires, and the Voldemort and Harry's blood connection.
> 
> Next chapter: Malfoy and Potter duel in the sky and things get rocky, and Elena has a surprise planned for Hermione, Harry, Ron, Dean and Ginny.


	14. Mrs. Bippity's Love Shop

Draco stood at the center of the pitch with the Slytherin team. Across from him were the Gryffindors and their oh so great Seeker, Potter.

Yet Draco knew something that only Crabbe and Goyle were privy to - Potter would not make it to end of the match.

It had taken a good hour to convince Crabbe that cursing Potter's broom polish was the only way Harry could have an accident while they skirted any suspicion. The idiot had wanted him to curse Harry in the middle of Hogsmeade. Now how did he expect them to cart the Boy Who Knows' body out of there and to He Who Must Not Be Named without being discovered? People like Crabbe and his father were meant to follow.

"Brooms at the ready!" instructed Madam Hooch.

So far. everything was going according to Draco's plan. As soon as Potter swung his leg over his Firebolt, it began to waver about dangerously. The look on Potter's face might have been funny, except Draco didn't feel much like laughing.

He watched as the pompous Gryffindor wrestled with his broom, feet dancing across the grass as he struggled to get a foothold. Knowing Potter, he was too stubborn and proud to ask for help and would play the game no matter what. That pride was going to get him killed.

The cursed polish would send the Firebolt into a frenzy, carrying an unsuspecting Potter far from the pitch and away from any teacher's protections - even Dumbledore's. Once he was vulnerable to an accident, that's when the fireworks would begin.

There were two curses on the polish: disfrenzia, a powerful curse that could disrupt even the most protected of brooms, and Montenegro's Flash, a cursed that turned any object into two tons of gunpowder, explosive at his demand. He had told Crabbe that he had applied both.

Crabbe knew Draco never botched a curse. It was his inherited bloodtrait, after all.

Draco squeezed his Nimbus to get some blood into his hands and stop them from being so damn cold.

Knowing that Harry was as good as dead, should have made Draco excited. His enemy, the enemy of his father and of the Dark Lord would finally be erased from the equation. He should have been relieved that after this, he would no longer have to fear for his father, that everything his family ever wanted would be provided for in the new world. He should have, and yet something inside of him rebelled.

~|0|~

Against Harry's best efforts. the Firebolt continued to waver like a quasi-deflated balloon caught in a breeze. A few of his teammates, including Angelina, kept shooting worried glanced at it. Even Ron urged Harry to get a grip on his broom, but that was easier said than done. Every time he tried to keep it steady on one side, it would begin drifting to the other.

"Is there something wrong with your broom, Potter?" Draco pointed out not so casually.

Harry frowned at him and then to Crabbe, who gave an arrogant chuckle, accompanied by Goyle's trollish laughter. Something wasn't right.

And quickly he put the pieces together. His broom's strange behavior. The encounter with Draco in All Things Brooms. The polish that Draco had made disappear and reappear. It was rumored around Hogwarts that Malfoy was good with curses.

Madam Hooch's whistle cracked the air.

Without kicking off, Harry's Firebolt dashed forward of its own accord. Then it bolted upwards and climbed past the teacher's box, taking Harry along as a helpless passenger. He tugged at it, commanded it to stop, but it would not listen.

The crowd's cheers began to grow faint as he climbed ever higher, and soon the only thing he could hear was the air rushing past his ears. Up he went until the air grew cold and the wind, unforgiving.

It was only after he approached a low hanging cloud that his Firebolt reacted to his touch and stopped just short so that its misty edge swept across the tips of his hair.

Relieved that he had a grip on his broom, Harry peered down. He must have been the highest he had ever been. From up there, shouts and taunts were muted and the pitch looked like just a patch of manicured green, but he could still make out his teammates like little flying, crimson dots mingling with ones of green.

Harry squinted to pick out Draco's blonde head among them.

There was no doubt in his mind, the Slytherin had tampered with his broom. There was a reason that no matter how much polish he applied that week, his Firebolt's symptoms only got worse and worse.

Harry sucked in a lung full of thin, crisp air and tried to clear his head.

No matter how frustrated he felt, there was no use complaining about it now. The match had already started and his broom was still the fasted on the pitch. It seemed Malfoy wasn't as skilled at curses as everyone said.

With that, Harry sped back down. He circled the goal posts, the stadium bleacher and every space in between, scanning every nook and cranny for a flash of gold. If his broom was struggling against a curse, then he needed to end the game as quickly as possible. Only time would tell when his broom would seize up again.

Below him, Draco watched his every move. Where Harry went, Draco followed. Yet he didn't approach him, as if he were waiting for Harry's broom to spontaneously combust or something. It made Harry's ears twitch to have Malfoy in his blind spot.

So Harry shot back up, gaining height until he found a corner of the sky with a good vantage point. From up there, he could keep an eye on Malfoy and on the game, which had begun to heat up; Angelina had already scored two goals.

Montegue was now in possession of the Quaffle and was hurling it towards the right goal post. Without missing a beat, Ron caught the ball in the crook of his ankle, tossed it up and swiped it to Angelina using the tail of his broom like a bat.

"Great save, Ron" Harry whispered to himself.

Not long after, the crowd burst into another round of applause as Ron made yet another brilliant save. The Slytherin captain had shot the Quaffle to the same ring again, where the Keeper had been waiting for him.

Next up, Gerald had the Quaffle. There was a quick double exchange between Angelina and him, which wrapped with an undisputed goal by Angelina, who held up a triumphant first. Gerald did one better and swooped over the stands hollering just like the little figurines in the All Things Brooms had done. The Gryffindors went wild.

That put them in the lead, thirty to zero.

Then it happened. As Harry watched Gerald return to the center of the pitch, something small and golden glinted far above the Chaser's head.

The Snitch was zipping back and forth, high above the teacher's box, catching the sunlight as it did so.

Harry lined up and shot for it like a missile. His glasses rattled on the bridge of his nose, threatening to rip off as he soared.

From below, Harry heard a faint curse as Malfoy sped after him.

Sorry to disappoint you, Malfoy.

Then something else happened, as he approached the Snitch: his broom twitched.

And Harry recalled a story that Fred and George had told him once about Malfoy and a cursed tea cup. He didn't want to think about it, not at that moment, not when the Quidditch game hung in the balance. But the thought barged its way in.

The cup, Harry remembered, had to be confiscated by Snape, who couldn't even break the curse himself. Snape still had it locked up somewhere in a warded safe. As Fred and George told the story at the Gryffindor table during breakfast one morning, their respect for Malfoy's work was unmistakable.

Harry struggled to remember what exactly they had said. Somehow, he knew it was important. Yet what could be more important than catching the Snitch, a Snitch that was so close now.

Fred's words finally came to him and pushed away any other thoughts, "We've never seen that kind of work. Not from a student, anyhow. Who would have thought that prat would be so good at anything," they had laughed. "But that curse was near flawless. Almost as tight as one of our jinxes. And anyone with half a brain would consider us masters."

Harry's broom twitched again. And he went very cold as he realized he had lost control again.

Then the shaft whipped up and sunk into his stomach. He gasped as his lungs emptied. Next, the broom thrashed against his grip, threatening to tear him off. He might have been flung off by that if he hadn't been expecting something like this.

It felt like Déjà vu, having a broom hell-bent on bucking him off.

Draco slowed as he came up beside Harry. "I told you, Potter, your times up," he said before he sped away towards the Snitch.

The Firebolt gave one more almighty lurch, and Harry's fingers ripped free.

And then he was falling, tumbling backward, faster and faster, the ground growing nearer and nearer. Even though his robes flapped loudly in his ears, he could still hear the Gryffindor gasps.

Now normal people might take comfort in the fact that the teacher's stand was so close and that any one of them would likely take action if a student was in true mortal danger. But Harry's brain simply did not work this way. He never expected anyone to save him, which is why his thoughts in that moment were as grim as they were.

He wondered what was going to happen to the world if he left it? If Voldemort would win and destroy everything that he loved? Would his friends, the order, and every witch and wizard who stood against the Dark Lord, be killed like his parents? He may not be powerful enough or cunning enough to defeat Voldemort, but the thought was not something he could bear.

Harry shot his hand out, fingers outstretched to a broom that convulsed above him.

The Firebolt bristled, and - in a moment of wonder - it dashed for him. Closer and closer it came until his fingers closed around the hilt.

When he swung himself back up, the Gryffindor crowd burst into shouts of encouragement. Even the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs joined in.

It would have been a magnificent moment if he wasn't losing altitude. The Firebolt was not so much falling out of the sky as it was descending gracefully and very slowly towards a ground that was still a fair distance from him. It seemed too weak to hold itself up or even move in any direction besides downward for that matter, seeming to have used the last of its strength to save him. But at least, he was out of danger for now.

The Snitch! Harry remembered uselessly. Malfoy would have it by now.

Hang on, he frowned. Harry then spun his head around to get a look at where the Snitch had just been. If Malfoy had caught it, Lee would have called the match and the whole of the Gryffindor section would be packing up and groaning about as they struggled to enjoy the rest of their Hogsmeade weekend. They wouldn't be cheering as they were.

"Malfoy loses the Snitch!" Lee's called out, his voice amplified several times its usual volume.

At the same time, Harry saw Malfoy cursing to himself as he swerved about to get a lock onto a Snitch that had evaded him. Then his glare found Harry. And the next moment, Malfoy was pelting towards him.

Harry decided that Malfoy must have been coming to finish the job that the polish has set out to do. It wasn't strictly against the rules for Seekers to get violent with each other, though it was more of a gray area in the rule book. But for Malfoy to attack him in the middle of a game was bold for even him.

Harry tugged at his broom to turn away or move forward or do anything useful. But it would not budge.

Harry glance back around. He could see the Slytherin's hard blue eyes clearly now.

And he noted in a split second that Malfoy's eyeline was off. In fact the closer he came, Harry more and more saw that Malfoy wasn't coming for him, but for something that was directly below him.

There was only one other thing that could have caught Malfoy's undivided attention.

Harry searched below him. What he saw was a glint of gold hovering several meters past his feet.

Though it may have seemed like a miracle, it was not one in his favor. With his broom ignoring every command he gave it and slowly dropping as it was, there was no way he would reach the Snitch before Malfoy.

Well there is one way, Harry thought as an idea popped into his head.

It might have been a foolish plan, but hey, Seekers were allowed to get rough with each other, remember. And taking his hands from the Firebolt, Harry released a nervous breath and let himself fall.

He dropped like a stone.

Harry angled himself in the air, and his shoulder caught Malfoy hard in the chest.

The Slytherin yelled as he was thrown from his Nimbus 2001 and they were both falling until Harry caught Malfoy's broom handle.

He climbed himself up, and, to the enjoyment of the Gryffindor's in the stand, lined up to grab the Snitch.

He thought that he should have been enjoying the moment as much as his housemates. But he didn't and he blamed Malfoy for that; the Slytherin's faint cries from below were really really annoying. Harry couldn't help but note that a fall from this height, would likely lead to a few broken bones or worse.

Harry couldn't help but hesitate. What he should have been doing was reach for the Snitch that hummed just a few meters away. But Harry would have the whole game to catch the Snitch. Malfoy only had a few seconds before he was broken on the ground (Harry knew all too well how painful that could be).

And so, Harry dove.

Judging by the groans from the Gyffindors, the confused questions coming from the Ravenclaws, and placid stares from the Hufflepuffs, everyone was not on board with Harry's act of heroism.

So why was he saving Malfoy? Especially after the Slytherin had just attempted to kill him? That was simple. Malfoy had warned Harry about his broom. It wasn't a taunt as Harry had thought it was when Malfoy had drawn attention to his broom before the beginning of the match. Harry might not have guessed that it was cursed, if he hadn't done that. And if Malfoy was as masterful with curses as Fred and George said he was, then Malfoy would have no problem getting around the Firebolt's protective charms. Maybe that was a stretch, but Harry didn't think so. It was a sign, no matter how twisted, that Malfoy still had a faint light within him.

For that reason, Harry kept diving for the Slytherin until he caught hold of Malfoy's ankle.

"Wha? Potter! Let go of me! I'd prefer to fall," yelled Malfoy, raising his nose at Harry if that was even possible at that angle.

When Harry didn't, Malfoy began to pry at his grip.

"Stop, Malfoy, you'll fall," Harry said as they quickly descended.

"Are you deaf, Potter. I said let me go," Malfoy shouted up at him. At that point, his attempts at getting out of Harry's grip succeeded.

It wasn't too bad of a fall, just a few meters. Though he still landed in a heap on the grass.

The Slytherin let out a meager groan.

Madam Pomfrey was out of the field in no time with a bewitched stretcher that floating alongside her.

"I'm f-fine," Harry heard Malfoy wince in pain as he swatted away her attempt at getting him on the stretcher. "I'm going back in."

"I don't know if you have noticed, Mr. Malfoy, but you don't have a broom to go back in on," she informed him.

Harry slowed to a stop and hover nearby. The effect made it seem like Harry was taunting Malfoy, with him riding Draco's broom and all.

Glowering at him, Draco gestured impatiently, "My broom is right there," he said in a are you blind sort of way.

Madam Pomfrey raised a warning eyebrow at him. "There are no such rules keeping other players from commandeering another's broom, Mr. Malfoy."

The look of fury on Malfoy's face was palpable. "A l- loner then." he said through gritted teeth.

Madam Pomfrey raised her other eyebrow. "I believe Madam Hooch keeps a spare Dustmop in the locker. Made in the eighteenth century, you know. A most sturdy broom." she shook a fist it as if to emphasize that it was most certainly not crafted with speed or agility in mind.

Harry coughed to hide his laughter when the Snitch streaked past his vision. The next moment, Harry was chasing after it. If he was going to catch the Snitch, he should do so before Draco found a suitable broom.

And catch it he did.

~|0|~

"Your broom goes mental and you decide to join it?" Ron said to Harry, before dropping his trousers and stuffing them into his locker. "What were you thinking, saving that prat?"

Harry looked down at his Firebolt, which twitched feebly in his hands.

The locker room doors suddenly banged open and Professor McGonagall strode in, lips as thin as could be.

"Bloody hell," cursed Ron, struggling to cover his half-naked body with a nearby towelette. "Professor," he added politely.

McGonagall looked grim, and Harry thought he knew why – he just hoped he was wrong.

"Do contain yourself, Mr. Weasley," she told Ron, before lowering her chin to look at Harry from over her spectacles. "I think you know why I'm here, Mr. Potter. If you would please hand your Firebolt to me."

"But Professor!" argued Harry.

"It is a necessary precaution," she said sternly. "If anyone has been tampering with your broom, We need to know. That would be a serious offense even outside the World Quidditch Cup."

Harry's reluctance deflated as he looked down at his sickly broom again. "Can you fix it?"

McGonagall softened. "I hope so. But I can't help if you do not let me."

"Alright, Professor," he said, and giving his Firebolt a goodbye stroke, he passed it to McGonagall.

She gave it a quick examination, before addressing Harry again. "Has anyone had access to your broom? Or to your broom care kit?"

Harry stood there and for reasons beyond him, shook his head.

For the next few weeks, he would likely be using a Cleansweep, or worse, the Dustmop.

Harry grimaced as McGonagall gave him a troubled nod before taking her leave. That would be the second time he watched McGonagall make off with that broom.

"If I'd have to guess, I'd say Malfoy did it," grumbled Ron as he stuffed his jersey into his locker. "And you still gave up a chance at catching the Snitch to save that slimy git? But that was a great catch," he mumbled, then perked up. "Did you see those saves against Montague?"

"Yeah, they were brilliant," Harry muttered as he pulled his arms through his school robes.

He couldn't help but wonder if saving Malfoy and letting him get away with cursing his broom was a mistake. And for what? Because he thought there was still some good in Malfoy, that he didn't really try to just kill him? Even Harry sometimes didn't know why he did the things he did.

"Gerald isn't bad either," Ron continued. "He can actually pass the quaffle, which is more than I can say for some of Gryffindor's past Chasers."

"Hey, Harry, Ron," Dean said behind them, still fully dressed in his Quidditch wear.

He was leaning in the doorway, smiling broadly.

"Great match! I can't believe you saved Malfoy from that fall, Harry. I'm sure the Gryffindors will never let him hear the end of it," he laughed. "Was just up in the stands with them. Hermione seemed pretty pleased you save him, Harry."

Dean gave him a look. Whiiiich Harry purposefully ignored.

"Alright so saving Malfoy wasn't all bad," Ron admitted as one might when one starts looking a bit heartless.

"Also Elene, Hermione, and Ginny said they were going on ahead to Hogmeade," Dean smiled cooly. "And that they want us to meet them at the Mrs. Bippity's Love Shop."

"Mrs. Bippity's Love shop?" said Harry curiously.

"Yeah, Elena said she had a surprise for us," said Dean, grinning broader still.

~|0|~

The Love Shop was hard to miss. It was covered in a scenic wallpaper depicting flowering English hills tops with great trees that grew heart-shaped leaves that blew in an absent wind. There were also some glowing fairy creatures that zoomed around and giggled at the passersbies, beckoning them to enter. The fantastical landscape was broken by a set of ruby red double doors with iron door hands in the shape of ribbons that kept untying themselves, just to re-tie themselves into a different knot.

With a lingering agitation about his Firebolt, Harry ignored the ribbons all together and pushed open the door, grumbling. Immediately upon entering, Harry was hit by a dense haze of incense that sent him, as well as Ron and Dean, into a coughing fit. It must have been magical incense because the next moment a warmth was zipping through his neck and down into his fingertips and toes, leaving him tingly all over.

"Did you feel that," Dean asked them.

"Yeah," said Harry, and to his delight, he was feeling much better. In fact, he felt like exploring this shop for any other strange magical scents and trinkets.

He wandered around a cluster of glass shelves, which were lit by suspended candles that floated away when he approached. On the shelves were a colorful assortment of antique lamps, perfume bottles, pink vials, salves, and several other strange oils and powders.

"Woah," whispered Ron, as he tried to poke a shy candle. "Can't believe we've never been in here before."

"Yeah," said Harry, examining a mortar of ground yellow-white powder labeled, Erumpent Horn Dust.

Curious, Harry took it from the shelve, sniffed at its contents… and sneezed. The powder puffed up in a dense cloud, collecting onto everything it touched, including Harry, Ron, and Dean.

"Oy," coughed Ron.

"Harry!" groaned Dean, brushing himself off.

"Sorry," apologized Harry, placing the nearly empty bowl back on the shelf.

Embarrassed, Harry brushed himself off as best he could, and could help but notice his flushed cheeks were only growing warmer.

"We left you three for one hour and you seem to have gotten yourself into a mess. Literally" laughed Ginny, who was leaning against a hallway that extended back deep into the store.

Ron narrowed his eyes at Ginny.

"Why are you dressed all funny?" he grilled her.

Ron was drawing attention to the fact that his sister was wearing eyeliner, blush and had styled her fiery red hair into a braid, something Harry always thought she wouldn't be caught dead doing. She also wore a limp purple silken gown, and… was that a flower tucked behind her ear?

Dean swallowed audibly.

"You look amazing," he told her breathily.

Ginny blushed through her blush and clutched a tattered maroon handbag, that must have been a hand me down from Mrs. Weasley, a bit tighter.

Elena sauntered out from one of the rooms in the hallway and twirled, so Ron could get a detailed look; her hair was adorned with colorful beads that fell onto a gown that was a fire opal orange with rich vibrant patterns. The pattern was so busy it made Harry's eyes reel. Having never seen anything quite like it, he guessed it must have been in the Romaji style.

"Vat do you think," she asked Ron gently.

Ron just blinked, apparently dumbstruck.

"Blimey," is all he managed to whisper as he ran a hand through his messy red hair that was still sweaty from the Quidditch game.

"Where's Hermione?" Ginny turned to Elena.

"I think she es still in the powder room."

Ginny blew a lock of red from her face and approached one of the powder room doors.

"Hermione, look, we are all wearing some… bizarre clothes," she said, banging on the door with an open palm, "So don't be embarrassed."

"I'm not embarrassed," Hermione's muffled voice argued from behind the door. "It's these heels. I mean, honestly, why do women still wear these? They're like 15th-century torture devices."

There was a click from the door and Hermione walked out, ankles wobbling dangerously.

"The dress is a bit tight too. I don't how I got it on, let alone how I'll get it off, the zipper is stuck," said Hermione, who froze when she saw Harry there. "Oh… Harry. I didn't know you were here."

All worries of Firebolts and Draco Malfoy vanished completely from Harry's mind; Hermione looked more stunning that he had ever seen her. But then again, Harry always seemed to like the way she looked.

She wore a shoulderless sky-blue dress with one sleeveless side, where the fabric sashed up to meet her other sleeve that came down to her wrist. The curls of her hair were styled so that a few strands brushed the skin of her bare shoulders. And then there were the crystal high heels she had been cursing.

In between winces of pain, Hermione smiled awkwardly up at Harry, and the dim room seemed to brighten a few shades.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that," Hermione apologized to Harry before rounding on Ginny. "It'll be a wonder if I don't break my ankles on the way to the Great Lake in these"

Harry chuckled to himself.

"Does she alvays complain this much?" asked Elena.

The six of them laughed, but Harry wasn't so sure Elena had meant it like a joke.

"No, the heels must be that terrible. I'll ask Madam Bippity for a pair of flats," Ginny conceded, and then disappeared behind a row of beaded drapes at the end of the hall.

"So- that's where- we're- going," said Ron between kisses; Elena had all but latched herself to Ron. She took a break from nibbling parts of him, to speak.

"I'll explain it all ven you are changed," she told him, and then she nodded to a purple paisley-patterned tuxedo on a mannequin with an amethyst colored top hat and an orange bowtie that matched Elena's busy dress.

"You're joking," said Ron flatly.

Giving him a devious grin, Elena shook her head.

Harry still didn't know what to make of her. She was still a bit of a wild card. Even Ron sometimes didn't know what to make of her and would often wonder where she would sneak off to, something that was happening more and more frequently as the school year progressed. Whatever extracurricular activities she was involved in, she was trying to keep them secret not only from Ron but from everyone else.

Ginny came back with a pair of flats. Itching to throw away her heels, Hermione snatched them, nearly kicked her heels clear across the store, and slipped on the flats. It was followed by a great sigh of relief.

"Much better," she said, wiggling her toes. Harry couldn't help noticing just how cute she was.

Ron cleared his throat and Harry broke out of his thoughts, realizing that he had been staring at Hermione. The stupid smile, that he only then realized had snuck its way onto his face, quickly fell and he looked around awkwardly, catching Elena eyes, who was smirking at him.

Harry quickly glanced away, and instead glanced at Ginny, who was eyeing him and looking worried.

"Harry and Dean, your suits are almost done being tailored en the back. Go back there and get dressed," said Elena. "Ve should leave soon."

Uncertain, Harry looked to Dean, who shrugged.

Harry took the lead and walked down the hallway and pulled back the beaded drapes. He was overwhelmed by a flash of white light. Both him and Dean reeled back. It was coming from a suit that seemed to explode every time a middle-aged woman, whom Harry assumed was Madam Bippity, threaded a stitch.

It occurred to Harry that Madam Bippity looked a bit like a very thin worm dressed in hippy's clothing. She wore a pair of purple-tinted spectacles that… wait, they weren't just purple, but yellow, turquoise, and magenta, seeming to change and morph into every hue imaginable. Her clothes were equally as enchanted with tie-dye spirals that burst into existence, like fireworks, on her loose sleeveless shirt.

"Come in, loves," she mumbled through a spare needle she held in her mouth as she worked. "Just finishing the last touches."

There was another burst of white and Madam Bippity used her wand to tie a stitch. Then she stood and glided over to them, where Harry got a nostril full of some stingingly pungent body odor.

"That should do it, loves. It's one size fits all. Was just adding a few features is all - for your romantic adventure out onto the great lake, you see," said Madam Bippity in a croaking voice. "Here, Harry Potter, I've made the white suit special for you. And Dean Thomas, yours is the emerald green suit just over there with the flowers growing from it seems. Be sure not to mistake it for the other emerald green suit with the oozing slime - still need to fix that one. It's been sick almost a month, poor thing."

Cautious, Harry pulled the white suit on, which thankful had stopped combusting, and checked himself out in the mirror. The suit was magnificent and tailored to perfection, so it slimmed his waist and broadened his shoulders. Harry fancied that he might even look handsome. Though, he put that idea out of his head as wishful thinking. Aunt Petunia had made it very clear on several occasions that he wasn't.

"We're actually going out on the Great Lake?" said Dean. He too was turning this way and that, checking his green suit in a mirror across from Harry.

"Well of course, you have to be on the water - the Giant Squid doesn't dance every year," said Madam Bippity, incredulously.

Dean gave Harry a skeptical look from over his shoulder.

"Uh, dance?" he asked.

"The dance, loves - the Giant Squids mating season. It only comes around every few centuries or so," rasped Bippity dreamily. "I'm going to sail out with my husband, the week after next and see the show myself."

"Didn't know the Giant Squid did mate," frowned Harry.

"All things need love," shrugged Dean.

"Will it end up finding another Giant Squid?" Harry asked Madam Bippity.

She screwed up her face in vague thought.

"I don't think it's ever found another of its kind before. But maybe this is the year that will change."

"But how? It's unlikely another Giant Squid can find its way to the Hogwarts lake," Harry went on.

"Yeah," Dean echoed. "Hogwarts only has one small river running into it."

"The world is a magical place. And love is the most powerful magic of all," Madam Bippity informed them and tapped Harry's breast pocket with her wand for effect.

There was an explosion within him of the most magnificent warmth. Images of his parents, seeing them laughing, and of-

The white suit suddenly ignited with a luminance so brilliant, Harry had to shut his eyes tight to keep from being blinded.

"Blimey. What was that, Harry?" said Dean, still dazzled by it.

"Life's greatest treasure," said Bibitty simply. "We all desire it, hunt it, and yet it is within us always."

Harry turned back to the mirror to catch a glimpse of the fading suit when he went very cold. In the mirror, floating just out of direct sight, was a shadowy figure, one that was not quite human looking. Harry got the feeling it was looking at him.

Harry spun around. But the only people in the back room were himself, Dean and Madam Bippity.

He snapped his head back to the mirror, but whatever had been there was gone now.

A deep chill rushed into his fingertips and down to his toes.

Convincing himself that it was in his head, Harry laced his shoes a little too tightly and Dean and he walked out of the back room with their new suits. When Harry tried to pay for the suit, Madam Bippity informed him that Elena had already rented them for the afternoon and evening, so they exited to the storefront.

On one of the Hogsmeade benches, Hermione, Ginny, Elena, and Ron were waiting for them and had treated themselves to a butterbeer.

"Took you two long enough. Come, the boats are vaiting for us et the boathouse," Elena told them.

Author's Notes:

So I tried something a little different in this chapter. The switch in perspective is something that will begin to happen more regularly with key characters in WB, I think. My hope is that this will add to the story, reveal character motivations, and explore a bit more of the world building. Naturally, Hargreaves will be getting her own chapter coming up here as she visits Glasswaters empty laboratory.

So also romance is really starting to take a focus in WB, especially for this and the next chapter. Really brings a new meaning to slow burn, right? I've been wanting to explore the romance sooner, but with so many other things that Harry had to deal with, it just didn't seem right. But now everything is calm at Hogwarts, or at least that's how it seems.

Let me know what you think of the new perspective shift. It's pretty new for the WB ...and for me and I hope it wasn't too jarring.

Also sorry for the terrible typos. I tried to get out the chapter before it was finished because it was a day late, and the quality suffered. So I won't be doing that again. I'll only release a chapter when it's been edited properly. :) Have since gone back in and tightened it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I tried something a little different in this chapter. The switch in perspective is something that will begin to happen more regularly with key characters in WB, I think. My hope is that this will add to the story, reveal character motivations, and explore a bit more of the world building. Naturally Hargreaves will be getting her own chapter coming up here as she visits Glasswaters empty laboratory.
> 
> So also romance is really starting to take a focus in WB, especially for this and the next chapter. Really brings a new meaning to slow burn, right? I've been wanting to explore the romance sooner, but with so many other things that Harry had to deal with, it just didn't seem right. But now everything is calm at Hogwarts, or at least that's how it seems.
> 
> Let me know what you think of the new perspective shift. It's pretty new for the WB ...and for me and I hope it wasn't too jarring.


	15. Even Giant Squids Need Love

Elena had planned a couple's boat trip. It was something that became painfully apparent when Harry got to the boathouse, which was more of a hollow in the Hogwarts cliff face than an actual building. There was a dock, yes, one made of rotting wood and tied to it were three small boats. Each one had two seats that faced each other and a small, wicker basket in the center. To think Harry had been expecting something more along the lines of a big viewing boat or at least one singular boat with enough room for the lot of them.

He was not the only one who was glancing around, confused and nervous at this discovery.

Ginny drew her hands to her hips.

"There's three of them? When you said you were planning a trip on the Great lake, I thought we would all be going on one boat," she echoed Harry's sentiment. "Hang on, I thought I remember you saying those exact words."

Elena shrugged.

"You lied to us," said Hermione flatly.

"That's vat a surprise es, esn't it? Et's all about lying to people," explained Elena seeming pleased with herself.

She stepped lightly into an unstable boat, using Ron's hand for support, the colorful beads in her hair clicking as it rocked back and forth.

"Ron and I will take this one," she added.

Ginny glanced at Harry, then looked over at Dean, with a, we might as well, sort of look. Though Dean shrugged nonchalantly, he grinned as he held out his elbow for her to take. As soon as the two of them stepped into a boat, they were rummaging through their wicker basket, taking out purple cheeses, two bottles of butterbeer and one of fire whiskey.

That left just Hermione and Harry, who froze, becoming very aware that there was one boat that had not been taken and two people who had not chosen one.

A heat blossomed in Harry's cheeks.

"What are you two doing? The Squid's not going to be dancing all day." Ron called out to Harry and Hermione.

"Yours es that von, Harry Potter," Elena encouraged him, staring at him with mock innocence. "The von that's vacant, no? Come on, Granger, get to et."

But that meant Harry and Hermione were rowing together? On a couples boat ride? This wasn't some sort of misunderstanding or mistake…? There wasn't some other member of this group that was late and would be riding with them.

Elena cleared her throat and gestured for him to make a move towards Hermione, who was blinking as thought she had a very stubborn piece of dust in her eye.

If he waited much longer, he didn't know if he'd have the guts to continue. So Harry walked over to Hermione and held out his elbow. Blimey, his cheeks felt like they were on fire. He hoped Hermione wouldn't notice. Just in case, he kept his gaze straight ahead.

"Take it. The sooner this is over with the better," Harry whispered to Hermione from out the corner of his mouth.

"Right then," breathed Hermione, and she lightly took his arm.

Harry's heart gave a sudden jump into his throat.

A drop of water fell from the cave ceiling and splashed onto his white suit. He felt the soft impact and, meaning to scrub it out, Harry looked down at the blemish to see that his suit was faintly glowing. And the splotch of cave water quickly sizzled and evaporated.

We all desire it, hunt it, and yet it is within us always.

The shining suit had peaked Hermione's interest as well. She was studying the magical fabric. Then she looked up curiously amused at him, and the two looked at each other. To Harry, nothing else existed in the moment. And he couldn't help but beam at Hermione, whose lips parted as she began to study him next.

Hermione quickly caught herself. She blinked and she turned away and back to the boats that lay so calm in the water. They would need to be boarding them soon. They couldn't stay on the docks all day. Like Ron said, the Giant Squint wouldn't be dancing forever. And so letting out a hot breath, Harry stepped into the boat.

Once they settled in, Hermione cast off the corded ropes and both took up their oars and dipped them into the lake's glassy surface and they floated away from the dock. The three boats drifted apart into their own private section of the lake. Mist rose in tendrils along its surface and the Scottish mountains shone, lit golden by the afternoon sun. It had Harry wondering why he hadn't ever taken a boat out on the lake before.

It was beautiful out here, serene. There were no Death Eaters or Dark Lords, no homework assignments, no tabloids or journalists; it was just him and Hermione sailing through open water. Harry couldn't remember the last time he had felt this safe.

Wondering what the others were up to, Harry turned about to see Ginny and Dean holding hands and swigging big gulps of butterbeer. On the other side, off in the distance, Elena and Ron were kissing passionately, running their hands through each other's hair. Harry smiled to himself; the way Ron stroked the lines of her jaw and lips with his thumb, it was obvious that he really did love Elena (Ron also looked far more experienced that Harry had thought he was).

"Look, Harry," Hermione pointed into the water.

Harry looked down into the lake.

Breaking the surface was a ginormous wet squid eye followed by its rubbery body. The Giant Squid flicked its eyes to them almost nervously, and then quickly dove. It wasn't long until it resurfaced. Only this time, a lone tentacle rose timidly from the surface. It stayed there, quivering. Then there was a great gurgling of bubbles up to the surface, and the tentacle began to sway back and forth. It was accompanied by a deep rumbling note, coming from under the water. If Harry's guess was right, The Giant Squid was singing.

Several more tentacles join it. They unfolded from the depth and swayed in unison like dancers on a stage. It was remarkably graceful for a centuries old squid. the way they whirled and whipped and swirled.

Harry looked up from the water and saw Hermione had been staring at him and looking positively excited.

"Do you hear that?" Hermione asked him.

"The Squid's Song?"

"No, I think it's more than that. Harry, I think the mer-people have joined the song."

It was so like Hermione to want to test her theory. And test it she did. She leaned over the side of the boat, held her hair back and dipper her ear under the surface. Awed at the prospect that the mer people were helping the Giant Squid find a mate, Harry did the same and lightly dipped his ear below.

It was enchanting. Accompanying the low rumblings of the squid was a chorus of sweet melodic voices. The song was so beautiful, it made him want to stay there with his ear pressed beyond the surface of the lake.

"Woah, it's wonderful," he whispered to Hermione, whose nose was so very close to his.

There, on a boat with Hermione, a reckless urge overtook him. He stood up, nearly stumbled over the edge as he did so, and began unbuttoning his suit jacket. Then he moved on to unclasping his button-down shirt. He left his pants on though, glowing brightly as they were.

"You're not really jumping in, are you?" asked Hermione, quickly looking away from his exposed chest as though she had something in her eye again. She really needed to get that looked at by Madam Pomfrey.

"I am. Don't make me go in alone," he said, holding out an open hand to Hermione.

"No, I can't. My dress," Hermione argued. "Certain magical fabrics don't wear well in water."

"Fine then. Just have to go in alone then, won't I?" teased Harry as he stepped to the edge of the small boat.

That seemed to bother Hermione, who looked conflicted. She glanced from a dancing tentacle, down at her dress, and then to Harry.

"Honestly," she gave in, "If my underdress get ruined, I'm telling Bippity it was your fault. Now turn around." She then reached behind her back and fingered her dress' zipper.

"Right," he cleared his throat, and turned away. "But if you'll be wearing your underdress anyway, then why do I have to turn around?" It was an honest question.

"It's the- principle of- it," she informed his as she battled to get the dress undone.

"Is it stuck?" asked Harry, eyes still averted.

"For some reason- Madam Bippity made a zipper that doesn't open or close with magic," she said in between little noises of frustration. "You'd think- she would have also bewitched it with a glue charm."

"Can I help?" offered Harry.

A silence fell over the boat as it drifted alongside the dancing squid. It was only broken by Hermione as she made one more attempt at the stubborn thing. When that failed, there came a small noise of resignation from her side of the boat.

"Yes, could you?" she apologized.  
She held out her hand to his, and taking it, he pulled her up to standing. The boat jostled, but not too badly. And Hermione turned around for Harry, tucking her hair over the front of her shoulder to revealing the smoothness of her skin. As close as he was to her now, he could smell Hermione's perfume.

To Harry's surprise, he grabbed hold of the dressed zipper with steady fingers. It was a bit stuck. Hermione's hair didn't help any either and as he brushed a rogue stand away from the zipper his finger gentlly brushed the skin of her neck. He felt her shiver and not from the gentle breeze that swept the lake.

Finally, the top gave way and Harry pulled downward until her dress came fully undone. She then rolled her shoulder so the one sleeve slipped off and the gown fluttered to her ankles.

"Thanks," she said over her shoulder.

Even in her underdress, she looked as beautiful as ever. The fabric was made of cotton gently tailored to fit her every curve, but still Mrs. Bippity's undergarment work left much up to the imagination.

Harry breathed in and out, feeling a scorching heat that burned in his chest.

"Shall we?" said Hermione and then she jumped.

There was a splash. And then a second one, as Harry dove in after her. He perhaps jumped a little too far, nearly crashing into one of the Giant Squid's dancing tentacles. And then he was plunging into the lake.

Just like that, the distance mumble of the mer-song awakened into a beautifully bright song. Next, Harry was breaking the surface and just like that, the mer-song cut off, and only a damp chorus was left behind. It was mesmerizing, but not quite so as the girl who swam beside him, her hair wet and matted to her neck.

They took one look at each other and burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of what they had just done. It took awhile for the laughter to fade, and when it did, it grew quite between them so that the only sound was the lapping of water, mingled with the song.

"It's a sort of prayer," Hermione said quietly.

"You speak mermish?" Harry swam closer to her. "Is there anything you don't do?".

"Not much," said Hermione honestly and then blushed furiously. "I meant that I don't know much mermish. Of course, there are plenty of things I'm not good at."

"Yeah, like what?"

"Divination," said Hermione unable to keep a straight face.

The two of them burst into laughter again. Harry laughed so hard, he found it difficult to swim. He had to splash over to the boat and hang on just to stay afloat. Hermione too. They were too crazy kids right then, both sopping wet and laughing stupidly at each other, serenaded by a muffled song of two species.

There was a gravity that drew him to her. A thing that made him nudge closer, sliding his hands along the wooden rim, because in that moment he needed to see her, really see her, to examine every one of her quirks, to see how many perfect teeth her brilliant smile showed, to wonder at the innumerable flecks in her brown eyes, and to know the strength of her soul.

Soon, just a wand length was the only thing that separated their lips, lips that were catching a brilliant white light that streamed up from beneath the water - his slacks were shining.

The squid's song was what seemed to encourage him on. Though muffled, it rang in his ear. It was just the two of them in the whole world. Nothing else existed. And nothing else was more real than this.

Harry leaned further into her, his breathing heavy. And Hermione put a hand on his chest to stay him.

"Oh Harry…" she whispered to his chest, "I can't."

"What? I thought-" said Harry.

Hermione stared at the surface of the lake as she spoke. "I should have told you this sooner, Harry" she. apologized, her lip trembling. "But I'm dating someone else."

The world seemed to go very cold. And he retreated from her to find that the squid's song, that seeped up from below, was no longer the beautiful thing it once had been.

Harry felt himself shake his head. "Who?" he managed to croak.

"Gerald. I swear I didn't know that he would make the Quidditch team. But he did," Hermione rushed. "That's why I didn't tell anyone. Ginny was the only one who knew." There was a guilt so heavy in her voice that Harry couldn't find the strength to get angry with her - just at himself.

"Gerald, um," said Harry, trying to retain some semblance of composure. "How long?"

"I only met him at Quidditch tryouts. And-"

It was painful to note that that was when he had been stuck in lessons with Hargreaves…  
This feeling. Harry wanted to let go of the boat and just sink, sink down to the very bottom of the lake and stay there until the next Giant Squid mating dance a few hundred years from now. Hermione was dating their Gryffindor chaser. He felt utterly foolish.

Harry didn't feel like being in the water anymore. Though he didn't know what to make of anything he felt now. The only thing he knew for certain was that he needed to leave. And so Harry climbed back into the boat, and then paused, because he also knew he needed to say something, anything.

"I'm really happy for you," he told her.

He then crouched at his bundle of clothes and searched his jacket pocket for his wand. That's when he noticed that his trousers were no longer shining but had gone dull and grey.

Once he found his phoenix feather wand in his jacket pocket, Harry pointed it at the castle and said, "Accio broom."

There was a shattering of distant glass and the broom came speeding after him. Harry picked up the pieces of his suit and was deeply surprised to see that it was not his Firebolt that had shown up beside him, but Malfoy's Nimbus. Remembering that his had been confiscated by McGonagall, Harry mounted it and sped away.

Yet Harry couldn't help but look back at the girl he was leaving behind. What he saw was Hermione, alone, hugging her knees as she stared down into the water, in a boat that drifted aimlessly. Certain times, you should never look back. This was one of those time.

He kept on flying. He flew until he circled the Whomping Willow and crossed the grounds towards the Forbidden Forest, the only place he knew he could truly be alone. Even if being alone, was the last thing he wanted be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun writing this segment of the story. The Giant Squid's mating dance was inspired in part by real squids and their mating dance. Some species do a kind of synchronized swimming as they change colors for each other. I always thought it was a bit romantic and so I thought it might be the perfect setting for Harry to reveal his feelings to Hermione, even if she can't be with him at the moment. Harry has to grow up fast now. In many ways. He's still very much a stubborn kid with heavy guilt and trauma. But that doesn't mean he can't learn to overcome these struggles.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has followed the story so far. I went out of town this week and didn't have any internet or service DX I know, horrifying right. Its was like the beginning to a zombie apocalypse or a horror film. So I just got back last night. Hope you enjoyed the newest chapter. Much love, Wordwalker.


	16. The Torn Tower

Heavy ocean winds beat against the shores of Marmont Island. Sea water dashed into great plumes of mist that sprayed Annalie Hargreaves and drizzled off the back of her pointed hat. She stood there looking out, only vaguely aware of the cold.

The scene before her was ruins. The lush forest that had once ran wild and free was shriveled and brown. The enchanted gargoyles that had patrolled the skies lay broken on the mountainside. The docks were dashed to pieces. And the wards that had cloaked and protected Derrik Glasswater's laboratory had been torn apart.

The only thing that had gone untouched, as far as she could tell, was the lone platform, carved from the sea rock. At its center stood the traveling mirror she had just walked through in her continuing search for Derrik. It was supposed to be warded. And yet, it wasn't.

"Sulphur," noted Malik, "A powerful curse from the Red Book."

It was unmistakable; the scent infected the air. It would never fade. Or lessen over time. It would linger like a scourge, an ever-blemish.

She knew the curse. During her time as an Unspeakable, her team had studied the ancient thing, and after years of study concluded that it was impossible to cast. That was until Fudge granted Lucius Malfoy clearance into her sect of the Department of Mysteries to review their work. It was just her and Lucius in the room, when he successfully performed the curse. The stench never faded from that room, deep in the bowels of the ministry.

The Prophet thought Lucius had fled the country. Annalie was forming a different theory, one that set her on edge.

The feeling of unease only grew, and along with it something else. A feeling of nostalgia. It was equally as unpleasant.

This island reminded her of her childhood home. Everything was colorful and warped. The staircase that cut up the mountainside was scarlet and as crooked as could be (every other step was at a fifty-degree slant or more). The lopsided pots that drooped over the railing, housed several types of talking flowers. All dead now. She even came across a Tiger-lily, though it was a husk of its former self. It would never talk another ear off again.

Annalie followed the pots up all the way up to the top where they fed into a courtyard made of scarlet and ivory stones at the base of the tower. It would have resembled a giant chessboard, if a fountain hadn't stood at its center. The water was still running and a plaque below the fountainhead read, drink me.

Annalie had tried to drink from it before, only to find the water had disappeared the moment it touched her lips

Beyond the fountain were a pair of cathedral doors that barred entry to the tower. Each one had a cat-head knocker far too high for any human to reach with a plaque that read, open me.

Derrik always had a mad sense of humor.

It was all part of this madness that made him one of the most well-protected wizards on earth. He did not think as earthly wizards did and so his wards could not be unraveled by conventional methods. But it appeared Derrik's protections could break after all. Even the jinxes on the cathedral doors had been undone.

A simple flick of Annalie's wand was all it took for them to swing agape.

The smell of sulfur persisted as she and Malik entered.

"Are the interior mirrors warded?" Annalie asked him, fearing the answer.

Malik outstretched his hands and his mirror dimmed briefly. If this sort of thing ever required effort on his part, Annalie never knew. His golden mask obscured his face. And in all the years Malik was in her possession, he had never once removed it.

"I do not sense any, Mistress."

"Barely adequete," she raise her nose in indignation.

She came up to one of the many stained glass window and scowled up at the man it depicted - Derrik Glasswater at his forge. He was pouring molten quicksilver into a wax mold, his great, blonde beard blackened by soot and his eyes alight with the usual spark he got whenever he was solving some impossible problem.

She had seen him in that very forge countless times.

"You old fool,"Annalie said bitterly. "This wouldn't have happened if you had just come with me to Hogwarts. If you had just helped me. If you could have thought about anyone else-"

She vented her anger, her frustration at her uncle, but knew it was useless. Even this version of Derrik did not acknowledge her. He was too enthralled in his work to give her the time. Nothing had changed.

Annalie hardened. "Search every mirror in every room. Come back to me when you find something of note," she ordered Malik

"Your wish is my command, Mistress." Malik gave a low bow, before he drifted from his oval frame, leaving an empty mirror.

Malik's work was swift and impeccable but searching the entire tower would take even a living mirror some time. There were almost a thousand rooms, and each had a mirror within. Some rooms didn't even have doors, only mirrors. It was how Derrik navigated even the most secure areas.

Annalie knew much about the tower; Derrik had taken her. He must have thought that family was at least worth that. Or maybe it was that they both hailed from Thavmaton, a world she had spent her whole life distancing herself from only to need so desperately to return. Or that she showed an aptitude for mirror magic, like her mother before her.

He would go on to show her the many secrets of Marmont Tower. The quicksilver forges. Alchemical boilers. Goblin-made omniscopes. Mirror testing belts. And he would show her his mastery over all of them.

He was a genius, but a terrible teacher and bit mad.

All traits that ran in the family, only at varying degrees. Annalie's mother for instance was equally as brilliant and thrice as mad as the old man. It was for this very reason Annalie had left Thavmaton, and it was for this reason she needed to return.

Annalie passed a pedestal on her way to the stairs. Perched atop it was a chocolate chip cookie with a tag that read, eat me.

Footsteps came into the chamber behind her. She had not been expecting anybody, which is why it came as such a shock to see Albus Dumbledore gliding into the foyer.

His silvery beard shimmering in the colored light that streamed in through the stain glass window. Albus had a knowing air about him and a vibrancy that reminded her somewhat of Derrik himself.

"Forgive me for being late. I was rather troubled to find that I could Aparate directly onto the island," he said. "Though, it was only after I arrived by boat that I arrived at that conclusion."

"Albus, you didn't need to come," Annalie said simply. "I could have handled this by myself."

"I would not so soon abandon a member of the Order in their time of need, then I would chance another Bertie Bot Every Flavor Bean," he said amiably. "If your uncle is missing, that is cause for alarm."

"I am not a member of the Order, Albus," she corrected him. She wanted to make that clear, no matter how many times he tried to persuade her. "We struck a deal, nothing more."

"And yet, here I am," said Albus amiably.

"So you are," Annalie agreed sourly. "Malik is searching the tower. There is nothing to do but wait."

In the paused that followed, Albus shifted topics.

"I take it your work with the Mirror of Ateli Kosmos is not going as expected," he probed.

"It is not. My mother's wards have been trying, and I am out of quicksilver," said Annalie, trying to distance herself from any emotions she might have felt. "I asked Derrik if he could spare a small amount from his vault. But, well, that is what led me here."

"I see," said Dumbledore sounding troubled. "Has Harry been making progress?"

Annalie eyed the Headmaster through slits. "Why do you ask? You are not insinuating that the Potter boy could- could do the impossible?"

"I am insinuating nothing, Annalie," said Dumbledore calmly.

"Well good. The boy may be a speculomancer, but he is a barely adequate one at best. I could forge my own mirror at his age," she scoffed.

Dumbledore strode up beside her so that he looked up at the window of Derrik, pouring away.

"Not all are born to great skill, Annalie. Often skill is learned," he said. Then he looked at her from atop his half-moon spectacles. "I would not discount Harry so easily. He need guidance more than anything, and I cannot think of anyone more fitting than you. I think he may surprise you given the chance."

Malik had returned to his frame, and frankly, Annalie was glad; she was done with this uncomfortable conversation.

"I have found something," droned Malik.

"Take me to it," said Annalie.

"Will the Headmaster of Hogwarts be joining?"

Annalie glanced sideways to Albus, who smiled at her genially.

"Yes, he will be."

"As you say," said Malik, who once more stepped out of frame.

His mirror began to morph to accommodate the size of them. It twitched at first, a twitch that grew more violent with each successive spasm. Then it gave a final jerk and snapped into a large rectangular mirror.

Annalie took the lead.

She expected the worst. It was how she grew up; the worst-case scenario was often the reality. Though reality was a loose term in Thavmaton.

Yet it was not what she expected. She did not find the body of her uncle. Nor the Dark Lord. Nor anything of note. What she found was Derrik's empty study.

It was filled with the smell of books. As it should be, since the walls were lined with them. There wasn't even space for a door to fit, only a thin mirror they had just passed through.

It was only a small fraction of Derrik's collection. The real prize was the tower library, a vast amassment of ancient texts and graphical grimoires depicting even the most esoteric arts. The only things it was missing were the grimoires of the Eldritch Arts. What Derrik wouldn't give to get his hands on those, not to use - though he was sure to tamper with a few of the harmless spells - but to know that they were apart of his collection and could reference them at will.

While others collected trinkets or cursed items, Derrik collected the one thing that would never devalue: knowledge. If there was one thing her uncle had taught her, it was that knowledge was the true power in every reality.

"Anna-" someone said in the room.

Annalie paused. It was her uncles voice. Relief came to her like a rush of warm water.

"Derrik." She spun around to her uncle's voice.

"I must remember to tell her something. But I can't remember what."

It was not her uncle. Not truly. The relief drained away, and Annalie was left face to face with a shade of Derrik, an imitation.

"Note to self, remind me to tell Anna that thing I can't remember," the recording continue. "Now that I have that settled, I want to discuss something of the utmost importance. My bowel movements of late have been very peculiar, but I do not know why. I have upped my dose of quicksilver in my tea to two tea spoons, but it's nothing I haven't experimented with before. By Queeny, maybe it was the macaroons.

"On another note, my research as to the whereabout of Aperion goes well. I believe I'm close now. A book I recently recovered in Northern Ireland mentions the city - not by name directly, but cryptic clues. It mentions a 'golden key, clad in silver.' Then goes on to describe a 'vestige of royalty, with remnants of nobility, torn from heavens grace..' but I see no correlation. If this is truly the key to Aperion, It has yet to become clear. But I am optimistic."

The image of her uncle blurred. Malik was beside the mirror her uncle stood in, fiddling with its magics – tuning it.

"It appears to be a visual note," Dumbledore said with a note of curiosity.

"Derrik called it a memory mirror. One of his inventions to help him keep track of his findings." Annalie paused. "It- it's just a recording."

"Ah, a useful tool. Derrik certainly outlined its uses quite well, wouldn't you say?"

The image of Derrik came back into focus. It was a different day, which was apparent by his robes, which had been a light purple and were now the color of a ripe banana. Annalie had learned to be wary of the days when he wore that color.

"Upped my dose to three teaspoons of quicksilver in the morning," the image began excitedly. "Bowel movements have stabilized. And I have begun to see curious shapes and patterns in enchanted objects. An anomaly to be sure. But their fuzzy, by Queeny! Fuzzy!" He tugged at a braid in his blonde beard, unraveling it. "I should up my dosage. Three and a half? No, that's too dangerous. Could my mind cope with the strain? A most tantalizing question, one I want to test."

Annalie grimace. Was this why he had gone missing? Derrik was on a quicksilver binge? That still didn't explain the smell of sulphur. Though it did explain everything else; her uncle became incurably manic when he abused quicksilver, often cursing, jinxing or performing new dangerous spells on household object just to see how they react. Now it seemed Derrik had begun hallucinating at well.

"Patterns in enchanted objects?" said Dumbeldore. "Curious, wouldn't you say?"

"They are most likely a side effects of quicksilver," said Annalie. "I wouldn't take much stock in anything he says."

"Now to my findings with the Ancient Irish text. It still makes little sense. All the more reason to up the dose," Derrik finished

The image of him phased as Malik tuned it again. In the next entry, her uncle wore nothing but his underwear. There was far too much of him visible for comfortability sake. His blonde body hair grew like a forest across his chest and his legs looked like they hadn't even glimpsed the sun in decades.

"Three and a half teaspoons every day for seven days! By Queeny! I feel…well alive. More so than usual. More so than actually being alive. As though I have transcended aliveness and am now living far beyond. I suppose that could also describe death…mmm," Derrik went on, tossing his head about as he jumped from one thought to the other. "I have been working with a set of enchanted object – that is to say objects that have been infused or were brought into this world through magic.

"The object I have been testing are as followed: a dragon egg, a cursed purple top hat, and a elm wand with a dragon heartstring. Dragons are the most intrinsically magical creatures in Earth, so I thought them the best choice. Note: do not try and haggle a dragon breeder in the future. Just pay them- Anyway, anyway, with the three and a half teaspoons I can see the patterns clearly now. I have discovered them to be math. Muggle maths! Geometry to be exact. Though they are far more complex than anything muggles have invented yet. Since I am the one to discover this new branch of magic, I took the liberty of naming it. Arcanum Geometry. My head is burning with theories as to how and why it even exists in nature. I must end this note - there is still much research to be done."

Derrik waved his wand and the image of him paused - still very much half-naked - and then blurred.

"Why is this important, Malik? This is just my uncle ranting," said Annalie dismissively.

"There is an important message here. It is for you," said Malik. "It is difficult to find, Mistress. Your uncle has made many entries."

When Derriks came back into focus, he was wearing his yellow robes again and speaking manically. There was a teetering tension behind his eyes, like he was on the verge of breaking.

"By Queeny, I've done it," shouted her uncle. "The Arcanum Geometry is part of a larger whole. You see, after I mapped the dragon egg's Arcanum Geometry, I wondering what would happen should I take the object through the Mirror of Katadiki on my next visit. The results were extraordinary. The dragon egg's geometries shifted as it transitioned worlds." He spoke impossibly fast, so that Annalie had trouble keeping up with him. "On the banks of the molten river- the dragon egg hatch into a foul beast- It was far more terrible than any Horntail. A creature from nightmares- it must be that each world changes the fundamentals of magic-"

Malik skipped to another entry.

"The quicksilver has side tracked me," Derrik admitted. "I have begun analyzing the text again. Though I can't remember where I've put my notes. Anyway, anyway, I can reiterate at least some of them.

"The golden key clad in silver, I believe refers to a unique golden mirror. Obviously. This mirror may be the key to Aperion. It attempts to describe the mirror further with riddles and word play. 'The vestige of royalty with remnants of nobility,' may be the biggest clue. I think this again refers to the golden mirror- yes, it speaks of it as wearing royal attire. Strange, it personifies the key with 'honor'...I wonder. Ah!" Derrik clutched his head in pain and then shivered. "I'm starting to feel the effect of extended quicksilver use. Note: the headaches and nausea have begun to occur every hour now. I will need to stop use immediately-"

"We're almost there, Mistress."

The image changed to show a Derrik more feeble than Annalie had ever seen him. His eyes were sunken; his ivory robes were matted with sweat; his long hair and beard seemed more grey than blonde; and he was crooked, like there was a great weight upon his back. He leaned on a long, carved staff and spoke with an effort.

"It- It has been two weeks since my last dose of quicksilver. The after effects have not yet faded. I have since not been able to focus on my work. In years past, I would have recovered by now. It's likely it will take a few more weeks, considering the higher dose." the image phased, yet his clothes did not change. "Someone is here on the island! By Queeny, they've destroyed my wards on the outer island. Impossible. I can't help but note a strange smell carrying from the lower island. Sulphur if I'm not mistaken. Unless I forgot to close the fridge," he wheezed a laugh. "The tower should hold. Oh and on a more personal note: i need to tell Anna-" he paused. "Oh, I still can't bloody remember-"

The image halted mid-sentence.

"It is here," Malik said.

The recording jumped to the next entry and Annalie's stomach turned. Derrik was there, kneeling and clutching at his side where blood seeping from beneath a trembling hand that gripped his wand. Before him stood Voldemort, cloaked in the deepest blacks.

"You are trying my patients," hissed Voldemort, his scarlet eyes filled with a malice and hatred for all things. "Tell me, what have you found. Tell me, or I will kill you."

"But I've told you, I do not know." Derrik said feebly. The veins on his neck and hands were raised and raw. Symptoms of the cruciatus curse.

"I do not believe you," said Voldemort simply. "Come closer."

At the command of Voldemort's wand, Derrik's knees slid across the floor so that so that the Dark Lord was close enough to touch him.

"Open your mind to me," he said.

"Please," muttered Derrik. His voice was weak and trembled as he spoke

Annalie stood, horrified as Voldemort's long pale finger slid across Derrik's glistening forehead. There was a moment of stillness and the both their eyes rolled back into their skulls.

Derrik twitched.

"No, please," he whimpered.

"Your mind is mine now. Show me the way to Aperion."

There was an eerie silence and gooseflesh spread across Annalie's body.

Voldemort cocked his head as if listening to something no one else could hear.

"A golden mirror is the key?" he eventually said.

"No!" Derrik struggled under the Dark Lord's influence.

"Shhhhh," Voldemort quietened him. "No, not a golden mirror at all, but a living mirror. One that you know of? Show me." Voldemort hand grabbed Derrik head tighter. "Show me!"

"I- will- not-"

It was over in an instant. Voldemort released Derrik from his control, and the speculomancer slumped onto the ground.

"The key lies in Thavmaton." Voldemort's thin mouth twisted into a smile, before fading.

Derrik began to chuckle madly.

"You will never reach it," he said. "Rob me of my blood, go ahead, but you will never find the mirror."

Voldemort smiled, and Derrik visibly shivered.

"What makes you think I need your blood?" the Dar Lord asked. He then turned to one of his Death Eaters. "Crabbe."

"Ah, yes my Lord." A Death Eater came into frame, his clothes black and his shoulders bowed in submission.

"I need a Mirror of Ateli Kosmos. Do you have one in that collection of yours?"

Crabbe looked pleased to be of service. "I do. The only other one in existence," he said greasily.

"That is impossible," croaked Derrik.

Voldemort drew his attention back to the withered wizard crumpled on the floor.

"Nothing is impossible, Derrik. You of all would know this," he said and then addressed Crabbe again. "We go to your estate."

Voldemort did not strike the killing blow, but left Derrik there and strode to the traveling mirror on the wall. When it was clear to the others in the room that their master was done with the old man, a Death Eater drew his wand and closed in to finish the job.

"Leave him!" Voldemort's voice slithered. "He is already dead."

The Death Eater flinched back.

"Of course, my Lord," he quickly replied. Annalie recognized him at Corbin Yaxley.

Derrik shook his head in disbelief.

"Who? Who did you rob to become a speculomancer," he uttered. "Please...not Anna. Not Anna." he had begun to mutter to himself.

Voldemort did not answer, but smiled before he left the frame and the room entirely. He was followed by his Death Eaters, leaving Derrik alone to die in his study.

In his last moments, Derrik turned to the memory mirror and Annalie could have sworn he looked directly at her.

"Anna, if you live, you must break through to Thavmaton quickly. You must save your daughter," he said. "The Dark Lord is coming, and no matter what you may think your mother is not as mad as he."

It was then that Derrik did something, Annalie feared he might. He directed his wand to his heart; he was not one to die on anyone else's terms. If it was going to come to a close, it be by some botched experiment or by his own hand. And so it was, by his own hand.

"Incendium Sacrificcio," he said.

In a blaze of white light, his body became like embers caught by a phantom breeze.

Annalie glanced down. There seared into the carpet, was Derrik's last stand.

Something welled up inside of Annalie. Was it regret? She was confused by the emotion. Her uncle and her rarely got along, that was no secret. He had even refused to help her reach Thavmaton and save her Sarah. And yet she could not help but feel terribly angry and hurt that he should have gone, that he could no longer help her, that she could no longer seek his guidance, even if he rarely gave it. She missed not the man himself, but what he meant. The one person in her life, the mountain she knew would never bow, had been broken.

"You need to get back to the Mirror of Ateli Kosmos," said Dumbledore voice materialized beside her, reminding her of his presence

Annalie could not see a path forward. All paths had lead her to failure.

"I cannot break through my mother's wards. I have tried and I have failed countless times. So much so that I have depleted my quicksilver. I needed Derrik," she said numbly. "and now he's gone. I'm struggling to see hope here, Albus."

"There is always hope," said Dumbledore, the twinkle returning to his brilliant blue eyes. "Derrik keeps quicksilver in his vault, does he not? And you still have Harry."

"Harry? He is a boy," argued Annalie. "He will fail."

"He is hope."


	17. A Light Rising

It was nearly dusk and Harry sat huddled on a slope that bordered the Forbidden Forest. He had been staring out into the woods for a long time. Maybe too long. He didn't know what time it was - his watch was still broken- so he might have stayed out there forever if not for the impending darkness. As it was, it was getting late and he needed his sleeping potion.

And yet Harry stayed there, absently stroking the bristles of his broom that lay beside him - Draco's broom. His attention shifted to Hagrid's cabin which was alight from within, firelight bleeding through the gaps in the boards. The fireplace crackled distantly and a sweet smokiness wafted over to Harry from the chimney. There was also a faint humming – Hagrid was singing as he was cooked.

Harry rolled onto his back and listened. It was relaxing, even if was a little flat.

He dragged up the small mirror that lay beside him and propped it up on his belly.

"Sirius?" he said tentatively.

He didn't know what to expect. Lately Sirius had been too busy taking orders from, well, the Order, and so would answer only to run off to his next assignment.

Only this time, Sirius didn't answer at all.

"Sirius, are you there?" Harry propped himself up on his elbow.

When his godfather failed to answer for the second time, Harry sighed and let the mirror fall onto the grass, feeling alone and cold. His clothes were still soaking wet. He hadn't felt like drying them, though he knew the spell.

"Sirius, please," he whispered up to the sky.

"Is that my godson, trying to reach me?"

Harry paused. That was Sirius' voice.

Excited, he snatched the mirror and held it up. Oh, how he wanted to hug his Godfather for answering. Obviously, he couldn't because Sirius and him were separated by several hundred kilometers and a pane of glass. Only, something wasn't right. The mirror was empty (not counting Harry's own reflection, of course). And when Harry thought about it, his godfather's voice hadn't come from the mirror at all but…

Harry turned around. "Sirius!"

If Harry thought Sirius looked well at the Burrow, it was nothing compared to his liveliness now. He was standing there, dressed in a crimson doublet with the Black family crest pinned to his breast. Except instead of the three ravens that usually haunted the Black crest, there were three hippogriffs. Sirius had been taking liberties with his family coat of arms.

Sirius caught him staring.

"What do you think? A bit showy, I know," said Sirius looking himself up and down and then picking at the pin. "Tried in vain to change all the family heirlooms to this version. For all my charms, they won't budge - my Great Grandmother was gifted at permanence charms, something I inherited myself. Though I never got the hang of removing them. So I seal them in a box and mailed them to Bellatrix. I did manage to curse the silverware. She'll be finding out very shortly the true meaning of being fork-tongued."

Sirius grinned. "Here."

Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out something silver and tossed it to him.

"Had it made especially for you."

Harry caught it and turned it over in his hands. It had the same three hippogriffs on it.

"Does that mean I'm a Black?"

Sirius frowned at that.

"I never considered myself a Black," he said, picking at the pin again.

That's when Harry noticed that a part of the crest, the part that usually had the family name emblazoned on it, was blank. So was the one in Harry's hands.

"I was thinking, that we could start a new family. First of our names and all that. How does that sound to you?"

Harry ran a thumb over the silver medallion.

"Mental. I love it."

Sirius, who was still fidgeting with his doublet, stopped and gave Harry a small, very pleased smile.

"Come here," he said, holding out his arms and bringing Harry into an embrace so warm, it might just have dried his clothes.

"Does that mean I'll have to change my last name?" asked Harry.

"Not if you don't want to. It can be a middle name."

"So what's our family name going to be then? If I'm going to have to live with it for the rest of my life, it better be something good," joked Harry, placing his hands on his hips like Mrs. Weasley.

"Don't worry, I've given it some thought, and I decided that we should come up with a name together, the two of us. Seems only right," said Sirius. "So, any ideas?"

"I think I've got one," said Harry tentatively.

"Of course you do," Sirius ruffled Harry's already messy hair. "Let's hear it then."

"How about Light?" Harry put out there. When Sirius didn't respond right away Harry added, "Or not, I guess that's a silly name. I just wanted the name to be something that we stand for. Everything, well, that Voldemort isn't."

Sirius rested a hand on his shoulder.

"I'd be proud to wear that name." he said, then paused and chuckled. "I'm going from Sirius Black to Sirius Light. There's irony there. Why not change my first name while we're at it, just to make it fit. What do you think about Jovial Light?"

Sirius winked at him and Harry laughed so hard he snorted into his hands.

"It has- a really nice- ring to it," Harry struggled to say. When he caught his breath, he decided to try out his own new name. "Harry James Light Potter."

It felt good to say.

"Hey, that's not bad, not bad at all," Sirius cheered on Harry and just as it was getting difficult to make out his godfather's features in the incoming darkness, the full moon rose out of the east.

Sirius noticed, and his smile faltered.

"How's Remus?" asked Harry.

"Fine, fine," Sirius swatted away. "Come on, it's late and I should get you back."

He patted Harry's back and guided him back up the slopes to the castle.

"Harry? he said as if just noticing something. "Why are you wet?"

Harry sighed at being reminded. For a man with so many troubles, Sirius had a knack for making Harry forget his own.

"We all went to the Great Lake to see the Giant Squid's mating dance. Hermione and I jumped in," he answered tersely.

"You and Hermione?" Sirius asked casually – too casually.

"It's not what you think. We're friends. That's all."

There was a short pause from his godfather as they climbed the last of the steps that led into the castle.

"It isn't easy being young," he began. "Wasn't easy for your mother and father either. Oh, did they despise each other when they first met. At least Lily despised James. James of course loved her from the start, though he'd never have admitted it." Sirius smiled sadly as he recalled memories from a time long gone. "Then one day in our fifth year, that all changed. You see, Lily had found out your father, Remus…Peter, and I were sneaking out on the night on the full moon. We were able to get away, but she cornered James that night and threatened to turn him in to McGonagall."

"My mom almost told on my dad?" said Harry in surprise and excitement and all those warm, wonderful emotions he felt whenever he heard a story about his parent.

"She did," confirmed Sirius. "And she made such a ruckus that Filch found them both and gave them such a severe detention sentence you'd think if there crimes had been any worse they would have been expelled. Every Saturday for a whole year, they had detention. They made good friends with McGonagall by the end of the year, I can tell you that much, Harry. And of course, your mother and father became more than friends."

Harry had to smile to himself. Who thought detention could bring anyone together.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is, Harry, is that we never know what life is going to throw at us, but that doesn't mean everything doesn't work out the way it's supposed to."

"You really believe that?"

"Yes, I believe that. I suppose I have to."

They rounded the corner, taking the stairs to the Gryffindor tower.

"So how did you know I'd be down near the forest?" asked Harry.

"You think I wouldn't know where to find my godson?" he gave Harry a stern look, before breaking into a grin. "I ran into Ron after I had been looking for you for hours. Your friend knows you well."

"You were looking for me?"

"Of course I was. If your Firebolt - a broom I bought you as a birthday present, mind you - decides to go crazy, you best believe I'm going to get to the bottom of it. So what did McGonagall say - Ron told me she confiscated it."

Harry screwed up his face, still sour about his brooms current prison sentence.

"It was Malfoy. He cursed my broom," he said, vaguely realizing he had left the Malfoy's Nimbus back at the forest line. Malfoy would find it. Eventually.

"Does McGonagall know this?"

"No," said Harry awkwardly.

"You know I also heard that you saved him from quite the fall."

Merlin's beard, Sirius was at Hogwarts for one day and it seemed he knew everything there was to know.

"That was a brave thing you did. Though if he cursed your Firebolt, I'd say he deserved that fall," grumbled Sirius before coming to a halt at the fat lady. "Butterscotch."

The Fat Lady did not open but gulped down her wine, wiped the dribble from her chin and stared daggers at Sirius Light.

"Oh, it's you," she said with contempt. "Steal the password from another student again. did you? Ha, I didn't let you through before and I don't plan on letting you through now. You may not be running from dementors these days, but I'll have you know that adults are strictly forbidden in the common room. Unless of course they are a parent of a Gryffindor student, which you most certainly are not. So leave me."

Sirius returned the glare in spades and growled at her, but the drink was heavy on her cheeks and making the Fat Lady resolute in her insufferable self-righteousness.

"Don't you growl at me, you mongrel."

"Who are you calling a mongrel, wench," snarled Sirius.

"How dare-"

"He's my godfather," interrupted Harry. That quickly silenced her. "So he is my parent and the only one I've got left, so he's coming in with me, thanks."

The Fat Lady's mouth dropped open.

"You mean to tell me, the very man who ruthlessly attacked me, me, two years ago, and who of course tried to kill you," she added as a second though, "is your guardian, now?

"You better believe it," said Sirius smugly.

She spluttered, looking from Harry to Sirius as if she were looking for some excuse as to not let him in. "Wha-well, I suppose, if that thing is your guardian, then you may pass."

The portrait swung open, and as they went through Harry heard the Fat Lady mumble something about needing another drink.

Upon entering the Gryffindor tower, someone grabbed his soggy shirt and pulled him through.

"Harry!" said Fred and George in unison.

The common room was filled to the brim with rowdy Gryffindor's, their faces rosy and pink nosed from one too many butterbeers. Miniature Quidditch figures zoomed around the ceiling, playing a match of their own, their robes had been bewitching to be the Gryffindor red and the Slytherin green. Gryffindor was dominating. Music filled the air, punctuated by soft crackles of the fireplace. There were students dancing with each other in pockets all around, and an overall feeling of joy in the tower as everyone was letting loose.

"Great game," said Fred putting his arm around Harry and leading him to a large cake with icing text that kept changing from 'Gryffindor, hear us roar,' to 'Slytherin, pity thim.' "You deserve a slice, I'd say."

"Deserves two," said George, putting his arm around Harry, who hesitated. He had learned to be wary whenever the Weasley twins offered him anything. Yet they carved him a slice and shoved it into his hands.

"Oh come on, join in the festivities!"

"Yeah, we don't win the first match of the year every year."

"You know what they say-"

"What do they say, Fred?"

"Something about winning the first game being lucky, I think," he rubbed his chin and then he paused and turned around to stare at Sirius. Among all the merriment, Fred & George had completely glazed past him.

"Sirius!" they shouted together to the point where the whole of Gryffindor tower heard them.

Many swarmed his godfather, getting a good look at him, though there were some, like Fletchly, who stood warily by the window, periodically glancing at the portrait hole.

A nervous first year tugged on Sirius's sleeve and asked in a small voice, which was barely heard over the commotion, "What was it like."

Sirius raised an eyebrow at the young boy.

"You mean Azkaban?" Sirius said, deep and breathy as to seem more mysterious that he actually was.

The first year yipped and scampered away.

"You didn't tell me Sirius was coming?" said Ron through mouthfuls of pastries. He had collected an entire handful and was somehow fitting them into his already overstuffed mouth.

"I didn't know myself," explained Harry. "He just kind of showed up."

Sirius revealed in the excitement for a time, answering the various questions of the Gryffindors, mostly revolving around Azkaban and what it was like to be free after so many years. Eventually, the Gryffindors had their fills and the crowd around Sirius began to break off and frey, much to the relief of Harry who didn't want his godfather being smothered on his first trip back to Gryffindor tower.

"Come celebrate with us, Sirius," Fred urged him.

"We have a bottle of firewhiskey we were saving for a special occasion," George leaned in conspiratorially as to sweeten the pot.

"Can't boys, I'm staying in the guest quarters tonight," said Sirius simply.

"You're staying then. How long?" asked Harry excitedly.

"Just for the night. Dumbledore has me on a tight schedule. I'll have to head out tomorrow after breakfast. Will you see me off before I go, Harry?"

"Of course," he agreed, though he couldn't help but feel disappointed.

Sirius scratch the back of his neck and looked longingly at the common room he had grown up in. "I best be off. I'll need my rest for tomorrow." Sirius started toward the canvas, when something caused him to stop in his tracks. "Who is that?"

Harry followed his godfather's eyeline to where Elena lounged on the sofa. She was lazily staring into the fire, and looking not miserable, but detached – lost in thought.

"Ron's girlfriend. She a Romaji from Romania. Transylvania, really."

"That so?" frowned Sirius.

Sirius was acting strange. The way he stared at her you might think he knew her.

"Is something wrong?" asked Harry in concerned.

"No, no of course not," Sirius waved away, coming back to his normal, gruff self and pushing open the portrait hole. "Now, don't stay up too late, Harry James Light Potter." Sirius ruffled his hair and winked at him.

"Don't worry, I won't," Harry playfully pushed his hand away. It felt good to have someone who cared, and he might just follow his godfather's wishes. "Goodnight, Jovial Light."

His godfather laughed as he went out the portrait hole, leaving Harry there with his piece of cake. He began to prod at it, seeing if it was liable to cause his fork to melt or his plate to explode. Fortunately it did no such thing. It felt like a cake and even tasted like a cake. It was rather good actually, yellow cake with raspberry filling.

"So you gonna tell me why you ran off?" said Ron, who had returned with an entirely new handful of pastry tarts.

Right, Harry thought. He knew he would have to explain that at some point, he had just hoped it would be later rather than sooner.

"Hermione's dating someone," muttered Harry.

Ron choked on a tart he had just popped into his mouth.

"No she's not," said Ron in disbelief. "When?"

"Quidditch tryouts," Harry tried to look casual, though it was difficult since his lips kept tensing.

"She's dating someone who tried out for the team? Is it Seamus?" Ron narrowed his eyes at the irish boy, who was trying to balance an empty bottle of butterbeer on his forehead across the room.

"You really think it'd be Seamus," said Harry flatly.

The bottle fell from Seamus' forehead and shattered on the floor.

"Guess not. He's not really Hermione's type, is he."

"It's Gerald," Harry said.

"Oh him? Well he seems nice enough. Though I'm not sure if I like that Hermione's dating a teammate. But I don't understand. Why run off cause of that?" said Ron obliviously.

Harry paused.

"Vat are you two, up to?" said Elena, who had somehow materialized beside them.

"Nothing," muttered Harry.

"Hermione's dating our Chaser," Ron threw up his hands in exasperation, sprinkling the air with powdered sugar.

"Is thet, so? Vell, I hev to say, Potter, you vaited too long."

"What you mean, waited too long," Ron cocked his head, and then turned to Harry. "What's she mean?"

Harry wasn't willing to have this conversation with Ron, especially since he had been under the impression that his best friend knew he liked Hermione, had always had like Hermione. From the first day he had met her on the train, that first year…alright maybe he was wearing rose tinted glasses, he didn't start liking Hermione until their third year, when she punched Draco in the mouth. That was why he had been so thrilled to hear that Ron was dating someone else, that way it wouldn't make it weird if anything should happen between Hermione and him. All that seemed rather silly now.

"Haven't you noticed? Harry es in love vith the Granger girl."

Harry felt himself go pink. Ron was staring at him, mouth open, still very much full.

"You didn't tell me-"

"I'm feeling really tired," said Harry quickly. "I think I'm going to head up to bed."

With that Harry slid away through the crowd of students towards the boy dormitory. He could feel Ron's stare continue as a heat on the back of his head, but it lessened the further he got away. He was almost to the stairs, eating his cake, when bumped into the one person he didn't want to see right then.

"Hermione."

"Oh- Harry," she said, shocked.

She had been dancing with a tall, lean fourth year, with a broad grin that reminded Harry of a golden retriever.

"Harry! Hermione and me were just talking about you," barked Gerald.

Harry choked on his fork.

"You were," Harry said through a bout of coughing.

"Yeah, of course! About the game the other day. Ya know, I don't think I've ever seen no one give up the snitch to save an opponent from a fall like tha'', especially one as- well, you know Draco, he's not a bundle of sunshine," said Gerald, then nodded his head thoughtfully. "Tha' was a real noble thing you did."

"That goal against Miles Bletchley was good too," said Harry.

"Ah, he's second hand complimenting," Gerald laughed anyone who was close enough to hear. "Joking, of course - tha' means a lot coming from you. My little brother and me have been admirers of you for a long time. Your win to lose ratio is something to be feared, just glad I don't have to fear it - teammate." He winked at Harry.

He reminded Harry of an overly hyper dog, the kind of dog that always wanted to play and yip and chase after every squirrel just because the squirrel was fast, and play was too exciting to pass up.

"It's 'I,'" Hermione added lightly.

Gerald frowned as he turned to Hermione.

"Huh?"

"The correct grammar is 'my brother and I'" corrected Hermione, unabashed.

"Oh right," blinked Gerald and let it slid off of him with a shrug. "That's Hermione for you. My little brother, Ted, does the same thing. Speaking of, I've got to go give him my old tests from Potions. Midterms are coming up soon and I'd like to see him get full marks on at least one test before he fails the class. He's good with words and spells and that stuff, just not Potions. Snape just terrifies him."

Harry gave him an understanding nod of sympathy.

"Snape has that effect on people," admitted Harry.

Gerald laughed, kissed Hermione on the cheek and then climbed up to his dorm room, leaving Harry with Hermione.

"I- how are you feeling?" she asked, finger fiddling with her dress. She was still wearing the one from Mrs. Bippity's Love Shop. It still looked good on her.

"I'm fine, thanks," said Harry simply. "About the lake-"

"Don't be sorry," said Hermione quickly.

"I'm not," said Harry and then he swallowed and looked for the right words to say. "I'll see you tomorrow for breakfast, yeah?"

Hermione looked confused as she eyed him. Then she gave a smile grin and nodded. "Yes. Breakfast then. I can do that."

"Good. I'm going to get some sleep now." Harry took a step toward the dormatory door, then turned back," And Hermione, Goodnight."

~|0|~

Harry rolled over in his bed, still half asleep. There were voices in his room, he vaguely noted. But with the sleeping potion still in effect, Harry could not focus on their words and his mind wandered back to its dreamless sleep. Only, it did not stay there for long.

There were the voices again, though this time there were more of them. He could hear Ron's voice, though for all the comprehension he was capable of at the moment, his best friend might has well have been speaking meremish.

"Go away," Harry thought to say, but wasn't sure if the words actually made it out of his mouth.

His minds cleared of its fuzziness to hear a conversation between a woman and his best friend.

"He's not going to wake up, he still taking the potion." Ron said as if everyone knew.

"Potion? What potion?" said the woman. Harry struggled to recall who it belonged to. For whatever reason, her voice was a relief to hear.

"It's the Dreamless Sleep potion. He takes it every night," said Ron becoming more tentative. "Snape's been making it for him since the start of the year."

"Why would he need such a thing?" the woman said harshly.

It wasn't her voice, persay, that jogged Harry's memory, but the way in which she said it. There was only one person that cold, combative voice could have belonged to: Professor Hargreaves.

"He's- been having nightmares, er, every since the Triwizard Tournament." It was clear by Ron's tone that he had started to realize that maybe Harry wouldn't want him to tell Hargreaves about the nightmares.

There was a paused that was broken by a soft mutter from Hargreaves. "Oh, boy," she said. "Malik, fetch Snape. We need the counter-potion immediately."

"As you wish, mistress."

"Professor, Harry's not in trouble, is he?" asked Ron worriedly.

Hargreaves did not reply.

Then all was darkness again.

Harry's smacked his lips. There was a strange taste on his tongue, like bitter blueberries. And where was all that murmuring coming from, he thought as he opened his eyes. This was answered as soon as he opened his eyes to see several fuzzy blobs looking down at him.

Harry sat up against his headboard and snatched his glasses.

"Has something happen?" asked Harry coming to his senses.

"Yes, Potter, it has." said Hargreaves. She was sitting on the side of his bed and looking worn and agitated. Snape was beside her, corking a small vial and slipping in its his robes. "That will be all, Severus," she told him.

Snape raised an eyebrow, gave a slight sneer, before returning to his chambers.

"The rest of you, leave us," she waved away the others.

"Leave? I don't know if you notice, but it's the middle of the night, and we sleep here," argued Seamus.

Hargreaves gave him a harrowing look that could have frozen the Great Lake in the heart of summer.

"Right," said Seamus. "See ya, Harry." And Seamus, Dean and Neville, shuffled down to the common room. Ron stayed however, undeterred by the Defense teacher.

"If Harry's in trouble-"

"Harry is in no such trouble, Mr. Weasley," she said. "Leave us. I will not ask again."

Ron grumbled, but otherwise left without further argument. When Hargreaves turned back to Harry her eyes were alight with haste.

"I need your help," she said quickly.

"I'm sorry professor, I don't understand," Harry said in confusion. Hargreaves had never asked him for help. In fact, she seemed like the person that never asked anyone for help.

There was something in her eyes, something foreign, something he had never seen in her before, and something she was trying desperately to conceal.

"If it were up to me, we would leave immediately, but as it stands, Dumbledore wants you to know just what exactly I am asking you to do," she said with rapid irritation. "I was not born on earth, Potter. I was born in a world called Thavmaton. If I seem…normal, it is because I left when I was sixteen."

"Why would you leave your home?" asked Harry and it surprised him to find that he was not at all shocked to hear that Hargreaves was not from Earth. It was just a puzzle piece of her that clicked into place. There had always been something strange about Hargreaves, something he couldn't put his nose on. And now, he had found it.

"My mother. I thought I could get away from her, but I was a fool and because of that stole my daughter from me. Ever since I have been trying to return through the mirror of Ateli Kosmos and rescue my Sarah, but have been unable to break my mother's wards. And now the Dark Lord is on his way there as we speak."

"Voldemort… then he's become a speculomancer. Was it Glasswater? Did he take his bloodtrait?"

"Glasswater is dead." That something behind get eyes stirred. "But no, I don't know for certain how the Dark Lord came to be a speculomancer, but it is unimportant now," she said, waving away his question. "What I need from you-"

"But what does Voldemort want with your home world?"

"That is also unimportant, Potter."

"It's important to me," Harry interrupted. "If Voldemort is going through all this trouble to get to Thavmaton, you know he wants something. Badly. And you know whatever he wants, its going to mean something bad for the war."

Hargreaves gritted her teeth. "Fine. The Dark Lord believes the key to Aperion lies in Thavmaton."

"But- you keep saying Aperion isn't real."

"I know what I said. The Dark Lord is apparently as foolish as my uncle," snapped Hargreaves. "What I need from you, Mr. Potter, is your help breaking my mother's wards. And then, I will need your help again with my mother-"

"I'll do it," said Harry simply, without further thought.

"Adequate, Mr. Potter," she breathed a sigh and then stood. "We need to be leaving immediately.

"What! You're not leaving without me," said Ron, who had come out from behind the door. "If Harry's going to face You-Know-Who again, he's not going alone."

Hargreaves cocked an unamused eyebrow.

"Were you listening at the door?"

"I was, yeah," said Ron, puffing out his chest as if to say, you-got-a-problem-with-that.

"Well I'm sorry to inform you, Mr. Weasley, but you cannot come with us."

"Why because you don't want me to come?"

"No, Ron, you really can't come. These mirrors aren't like other mirrors. Only speculomancers can enter them," explained Harry.

"You see," said Hargreaves. "There is no way, now-"

She was interrupted my Malik, who Harry had totally forgotten had been in the room with them. He had an uncanny way of blending in with the furniture. Perhaps that was because he was a piece of home furniture.

"That is not entirely true, Mistress," he corrected her.

Hargreaves frowned at the man, whose face was mostly masked in gold. "You have something to say, Malik?"

"It is possible for me to calibrate a Mirror from the Age of Aperion so that a non-speculomancers can pass through," he said a matter of factly.

"This is news to me. Why have you never divulged this information before now?"

"You have never asked, Mistress."

"I never asked, I see. Is there anything else I should know, Malik," she said with an edge.

"Plenty, Mistress, but we have work to do, do we not?"

"Yes. We do," she turned to Ron. "Regardless of this… revelation, you will not be joining us. It is too dangerous."

"Oh come on Harry," Ron appealed to his best friend to vouch for him.

"You heard her Ron, it's too dangerous. I don't want you to get hurt."

"Well that's not up to you. I want to help."

"We don't have time for this," Hargreaves cut in. "Mr. Potter, we are leaving."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed writing this chapter because it really gave Harry a chance to grow. SO much of his journey up until now has been him making one mistake after another, all of which was a result of how he was dealing with the events of the Triwizard Tournament. I always thought it was heartbreaking that Harry should lose Sirius in the fifth book, just when he needed him most. There was so much that Harry could have learned with Sirius by his side, guiding him and offer any advice he could (even if its a bit awkward). So Sirius isn't going anywhere, and this new family of Harry's in a way is going to be the crux of the war and how it ends. 
> 
> Let me know if you liked this chapter. I'll definitely respond and any support gives me that warm fuzzy feeling that makes me hop on that next chapter that much sooner haha.
> 
> Thank you all to everyone who has followed the story up until now. I know I haven't been posting as regularly as my first ten chapters. I've been working on an original book. It's in a world I have been working on for almost two years now and have written a few stories in so far (unpublished). So its really eating up a lot of time. I love WB and have no intention of abandoning it. But I will be posting less frequently - probably every two to three weeks.


	18. It's a Wonderful Life

Blackness was the color Harry saw as he stepped through the mirror of Ateli Kosmos, something that was followed by a bone-shuddering chill. The realm was all too familiar, having been there once before. How could he forget the utter oppressing darkness that seemed to suffocate any light that dared trespass against it? Even as Harry muttered Lumos alongside Hargreaves, their collective spells seemed weakened somehow – only a dim imitation of the real thing.

There was no river of glowing mist this time.

"Follow me" commanded Hargreaves.

The road, or rather absence of road, took them far away from the rectangular portal they had passed through. Every step they went, Harry mustered a modicum of courage, keeping close to Hargreaves. The idea of being lost in this place was chilling. No light and no sound, not even their own footsteps. He didn't understand how important these cues were until they were stripped bare.

Eventually, Hargreaves came to a halt. It was nowhere of any visual importance, not that he could see much of anything anyway. How Hargreaves could navigate in a land that had them floating in a sea of nothingness with no ceilings or floors only empty space as far as their dim spells would show, Harry did not know. He imagined this must be what the very deepest reaches of space felt like.

Hargreaves drew a vial from a loop on her belt. He knew it as Quicksilver as it glinted silver in the light of his wand, brilliant and mesmerizing, as it sloshed against the sides. She uncorked the vial and swept out its contents, the liquid silver splattered onto an invisible plane.

"I cannot tell you the countless times I have stood right here, speaking the charm. And how many times I have failed," she said softly.

"This time will be different," said Harry.

"Is that a promise, Mr. Potter," Hargreaves turned and raised an eyebrow at him.

"It is."

"For my daughter's sake, I hope you do not disappoint. Have you been practicing the Droichea charm? Becoming familiar with it?"

"Every day."

"Good. Then we might actually have a chance." Hargreaves turned to Malik, who had silently been floating alongside them. "Begin to harmonize on my command."

"Your wish is my command, Mistress."

"Mr. Potter, you will cast Droichea alongside me. We must be in sync in order to stabilize the portal. That was the only vial of Quicksilver I have left, so we only have one chance at this," she said, and Harry heard her grumble something that sounded like 'bad habit' and 'stupid Derrik.' "Mr. Potter put out Lumos and ready yourself. Malik, it's time to begin."

Maklik outstretched his hands, unbound from any mirror. For whatever reason, Malik had a corporeal body while in the mirror realms. You'd think Malik, being a living mirror, was a mirror and couldn't exist outside it, and yet it seemed he didn't need the mirror to survive here.

Harry extinguished Lumos and everything went dark. Darker than dark. He then brought his wand level with his shoulder, unable to see it nor the quicksilver splatter, nor Malik or Hargreaves.

"Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be, professor."

"On three then," said Hargreaves. "One. Two."

Harry licked his lips and felt the charm ready on his tongue.

"Three!"

"Droichea," they bellowed in unison.

Both wands - holly and ash - ignited, shooting forth white lightning. It gushed and cracked the air. Malik shifted slight and their two streams snapped together. As a single column of darting light, it struck the quicksilver. At impact, the liquid began to writhe and hiss, like a snake, and mist poured forth, consuming Harry's legs up to his knees.

"Adequate, Mr. Potter!" she shouted over the crackle. "Malik, focus all your energy on forming the parameters!"

Malik's answer was in actions, not in words. His hands shot forth and began to glow with a faint aura. The quicksilver responded to his mysterious magics by seeping across the darkness like drops of blood into a bowl of water, surreal explosions.

The edges smoothed to form straight, ridged lines and collected at four points to form corners.

"That's it. We're almost through," Hargreaves' voice shook, whether, with exertion or the very real possibility that in a few moments she may see her daughter again, Harry did not know.

Harry's wand began to hum beneath his fingers, as the portal took shape. And Harry hesitated. This was the moment just before his life would change forever.

If he opened this portal, the world would not be the same singular entity anymore. They would find Hargreaves' daughter in another world. And if they could, keep Voldemort from getting that key. If he found Aperion - if it existed - it would not be at all good for the wizarding world. Though what Voldemort wanted with an ancient speculomancer city was unclear.

And with that Harry's resolve grew tenfold.

A resounding ringggggggggg crept up through the darkness, coming from the quicksilver, which had bled into the shape of a tall, frameless mirror. The ringing grew louder, and the white lightning - a force of power, a force created by the joining of Harry and Hargreaves' spell - grew wilder. And at that moment, with their spells conjoined, Harry couldn't help but feel an overwhelming warmth. It started in his wand arm and shock into his heart and reminded him of the warmth he felt when he was around Remus or Dumbledore… or even Sirius. He wondered if Hargreaves felt it too.

And then it was gone.

Their spells burst apart and the portal ignited in a blaze. The mist petered out and dispersed, and the portal dimmed to a faint glow that pulsed gently.

Harry and Hargreaves stood there staring at it, wordless.

"Hope" whispered Hargreaves in disbelief.

"He would seem to be, mistress," added Malik.

Hargreaves turned to Harry, with a curious expression. She was not scowling or frowning but looked at him with a tired relief.

"You have my gratitude, Harry. If you want to turn back, you have every right to, I can have Malik escort you-"

"I'm not turning back, professor," said Harry firmly.

A smile tugged at the corners of Annalie Hargreaves lips as she nodded in respect.

"Adequate," she gave in to the smile and it seemed to light up the darkness alone. "Then there is no time to waste."

She took confident steps forward and Harry watched as the quicksilver enveloped his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, a teacher who he had despised and condemned as a traitor, a teacher who he now actually kinda liked and trusted.

The chill of mirror travel washed over Harry like a bucket of ice water as he came through after her. His teeth chattered, and he hugged his elbows to retain the little warmth he had left in his body. When he got ahold of his shivering, he peered around at the foreign room.

They were inside what looked to be a small cabin. It was pleasantly warm. So much so that Harry felt back to normal in a matter of seconds.

The room was populated by the crackling of a fire and the sweet smell of the soup that bubbled in a cast iron pot above it. From this Harry might have thought he was still in Earth, if not for the peculiar furniture that sat in what Harry assumed was the living room. The plush red sofa that sat before the fire was big. Not just big, but enormous.

Harry's first thought was that they had stepped into a giant's house. It was good to know that giants existed in Thavmaton too… only the coffee table was regular sized… okay so maybe it wasn't the house of a giant, he decided. To confuse Harry even more, the teacups that rested atop the table looked to have been crafted with mice in mind.

"Um, professor, I don't understand. What exactly should I expect in Thavmaton?"

"That is an inadequate question, Mr. Potter. In Thavmaton you cannot expect anything. In fact, you should just go ahead and expect the unexpected."

Harry nodded, though he didn't feel any more informed than he did a second ago.

"Who is making that ruckus,' said a man from behind one of the side doors that Harry now just noticed. Though muffled, a lisp adorned the high-pitched manic voice, a voice more cartoonish than real.

There was a flushing of a toilet, a dribble of sink water, and then the door was swinging open. If Harry was expecting a giant, he was sorely disappointed. A middle-aged man half his size, waddled out of the bathroom, pouting at being disturbed by the two intruders. Harry couldn't help but notice that one of the man's eyes, which had a ring of purple around the iris, was significantly larger than the other.

"Professor…that's…" Harry said dryly. He was staring at the man's top hat – which was half the little man's size - and at the card patched into its purple fabric. Harry had seen this man before… in a storybook.

"Thavmaton often goes by a different name in Earth, Harry," Hargreaves said, equally as dry in her delivery. "Wonderland."

A log popped in the fireplace and a fluff of froth spilled over the side of the pot. And Harry went very quiet.

"What are you two doing in my abode. Did you- come through the mirror. You know that's a capital offense you know. Besides, I dare say there is something called common decency." The man seemed to choose words with 's's and every time he did, spit flew in arcs from his wide lips.

"It's Annalie," said Hargreaves as if this would jog his memory. It didn't. "You don't remember me."

"Annalie? Annalie who? Dear God woman there are plenty of Annalie's out there. Myself, I know seven. Seven, and I only like two of them, so which one are you?"

"You only know one, you crazy fool. Me. Annalie Hargreaves, the daughter of the Queen. If you need me to repeat myself again, you should think about cleaning out your ears."

The Mad-Hatter (who Harry was still struggling to believe actually existed) took both his forefingers and cartoonishly stuck them in his ears. He spun them about and when he removed them, they were covered in a heavy wax. Harry also wondered vaguely if he had misheard Hargreaves, but considering this surreal encounter, discovering that Hargreaves was royalty seemed like the most normal things this the world.

"Forgive me. I thought I heard you say you were the daughter of the Queen. I am filled with wax and even I know that is impossible. You see, dear Annalie-one-of-seven, and, er- Who are you?"

Harry snapped back to reality (a loose term indeed).

"Um, Harry."

"Well, Umharry, listen closely and hear with your eyes. The Queen's daughter is dead, has been missing for a hundred years. And as we all know, when something goes missing, it ceases to exist. So it is impossible that the daughter of the Queen should be here. And believe me, I know my impossibilities as well as I know my improbabilities. Now out!"

"You know me, Tarrant Hattop. I need your help, My daughter needs your help," said Hargreaves with conviction.

"How do you know that name?" said the Mad-Hatter as if she had just uttered one of the known impossibility.

Hargreaves crouched down so that she stood level with the little man. "Because I knew you before you were the Mad-Hatter. Because I sat with you in the Rose Garden when I was a little girl. Because you saved my life. And because from then on you called me Little Anna-maly. You know me."

If knowing the Mad-Hatter's real name had not convinced the squat man, this did. Tears pooled in his smaller eye while his larger one grew wild with intensity.

"It cannot be. Anna-maly…" He reached out as touched the contours of her face - she did not shy away. "Ruddy chin. Wonderous nose. And those eyes, the eyes of the Queen…It's you… You've come back!"

He began bouncing off the walls, flailing his hands and shouting with glee. Then stopped abruptly as if remembering something awful.

"Oh no, you're back. Oh no, indeed. The Queen will not be happy. She has disowned you, banished you after you banished yourself. She will not have in. And with the ceremony on after-eve - which naturally is tonight – I don't think you will be welcome. By Queeny no, she will want you dead."

"Ceremony? What ceremony?" frowned Hargreaves.

"The Ceremony for Princess Sarah… she is to become the Queen's successor, to bind her to the throne, body and soul. Oh, it will be a lovely time, filled with madness and magic and the Princess… Oh no…" The Mad-hatter stared, understanding behind his misshapen eyes. "Your daughter. By Queeny! Has our Queen napped her own granddaughter?"

The Mad-hatter dashed right back up to Hargreaves and peered worriedly up into her blue eyes. He was searching for an answer and sagged visibly when he got one, so disappointed.

"That is why I need your help. You need to get us into the castle."

"A rescue mission, then?" The Mad-hatter rubbed his chin in thought.

"Please," said Hargreaves in calm desperation.

"Oh, if my favorite Annalie wishes it, I cannot say 'no.' I will forget the word, gone from my verbose vocabulary forever." He grinned. "I will get you into the castle if we have to fly in.. But first, we need to prepare. You there, Umharry-"

Mad-hatter beckoned him.

"It's Harry, not Umharry," corrected Harry.

"Ah forgive me, Itsharry."

Harry screwed up his face and decided that further correction would be useless.

"We need to pack. The journey will be as short as it is long, so we must pack for anything and for nothing, only then have we be prepared. Are you misunderstanding?"

"We need to pack for nothing and for anything, got it," said Harry, giving in to the whimsy.

"Wonderful. Oh I like you, nothing and everything. Ha Ha! Pack up my toilet, it should fit in this-"

The Mad-hatter produced a loose-leaf tea can and tossed it to Harry. Catching it, he turned it in his hands, wondering what type of extension charm was placed upon it.

"Toilet, got it, Tarrant," said Harry and was about to head into the bathroom to get the toilet, wondering how he would be dislodging it from the bathroom floor when the Mad-hatter stopped him with a correction.

"Please, just Hatter, will do."

"Oh right, sorry, Justhatter," said Harry cheekily.

The Mad-hatter turned on Hargreaves. "Oh, I like him. Oh yes, I like him indeed."

The Mad-hatter then bent down and eyed a hole in the kitchen baseboard.

"Dormouse! Where are you? We are going to unkidnap the princess! Now where is that whistle."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Wonderland is very much real. I added several allusions to it and other storybooks, fairy tales and legends that were used to foreshadow the introduction of something so seemingly ludicrous as adding Wonderland into the Harry Potter Universe (HPU? like the MCU?). I hope it didn't come as too much of a shock, or maybe I do hope that. Their journey to save Annalie's daughter is going to be much more of what this chapter was in the latter half. The whimsy of it all.
> 
> Hargreaves and Harry's relationship begin to morph into that of a mentorship and even a friendship, and I hope that that came across in a fashion that wasn't like a bludgeon over the head. I have four chapters planned for this section of the story, but there is a possibility that it could be longer. It is going to delve a little more into the history behind Wonderland and how Annalie is apart of that, why she left, and what happens to people when they stay too long in Wonderland. I've tried to stick with canon Wonderland by Lewis Carrol while adding in some elements from Tim Burton's movies with a twist of my own as far as characters are concerned. Everything else is fair game. But if you've ever read the books or seen the movies, you'll notice some familiar character and locations.


End file.
